I’m insulted. Three weeks after this pushy broad squirted slimy goo all over me and then shoved a camera around my stomach until I was left with sticky dreadlocks, she sends me a Dear John letter.
No phone call after the procedure to ask how I was doing, no sympathy card, just a short impersonal report in the mail today saying “no definite fluid collection or other mass appreciated.” Now I’m not sure what that part means, but It doesn’t sound too bad.
Here’s the part that really ticks me off: she said that I have “a grossly unremarkable umbilicus!” What the hell? Isn’t this a little like your wife patting you on the back afterwards and saying “it’s okay dear, there’s nothing wrong with being average. I still love you.”
Sometimes it’s really tough to be a guy. I guess I don’t need the surgery after all. What a gyp. I was looking forward to a few days off work.
I, for one, have always been extremely proud of your unremarkable umbilicus, son, and have bragged about it to many of my closest friends.