My Dad has an aneurysm and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.

Went to my parents' house today for a little cook-out. My Dad has these two suspicious-looking moles on his face, and, as is my custom when I see him, I nagged him about when he's going to go to a doctor and have them looked at. My Mom says: "Oh, he's going for his MRI next month; we'll ask the doctor to look at it then." MRI? Ok, I'll bite. So I say: "Why's Dad getting an MRI?" And my Mom says: "Oh, you know...for his aneurysm".

*beat*

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, DAD'S ANEURYSM?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"

"Oh, you knew about it. It was the same time as with the cardio-catheter and everything."

Which was in the summer of '05, folks. Oh, no. It really was not. I can assure you that NO-ONE has previously EVER, in ANY capacity, happened to mention that MY FATHER HAS A FUCKING BRAIN ANEURYSM.

I am very sure about that, because I cannot even spell aneurysm without looking it up. I can spell cardio-catheter, because I KNEW about that one, and I learned about it. NO-ONE told me about ANY fucking brain aneurysm, or I'd be able to spell it.

In any case, it is apparently a small aneurysm, the kind you go let's-give-you-an-MRI-every-year-to-make-sure-it's-still-ok, nothing-to-freak-out-over. Most definately NOT the -oh-fucking-God-I-need-brain-surgery-tomorrow kind.

But you think they could have mentioned it to me at some point.

I swear, the communication in this family is non-existant. Unfuckingbelievable.

I know just how I'll get back at them. I'll suffer from depression for over 20 years and NOT TELL THEM.

Yeah, that'll teach 'em.



Oh, wait. I already did that.