Misty has relayed to me yet another bizarre tale from the animal clinic. Since her blogging days were short-lived, though, I'll have to share it myself. It's too good to go untold...
Around 7 a.m. last Friday, a woman brought her dog in to see the vet. Since he was clearly uneasy about being there, she consoled him, saying "Don't worry; Mommy won't leave you here."
Hearing this, Misty became worried. Was she going to have to entertain this woman all morning? "Are you sure you want to stay?" she asked. "The vet doesn't come in until 8:30."
The woman said she didn't mind staying.
In an attempt to avoid an hour and a half of smalltalk, Misty busied herself with paperwork. She couldn't avoid the front counter alltogether, though, and was eventually faced with the usual qestion: "So when's your baby due?"
"Six more weeks," she told the woman.
"I'll bet you're really worn out," the woman offered.
"Yeah, I feel like I'm running on empty," Misty said.
"And I bet you have to get up a bunch of times during the night having to go to the bathroom," the woman rambled on.
"Uh... yeah," Misty replied, cautiously.
"Yeah, I've been there, done that," said the woman. "But I'll tell you what I did. I got really tired of having to get up again and again every night, so I got myself some adult diapers. That way, if I had the urge to go during the night, I just went."
Apparently, the woman thought that this was a great idea, but Misty didn't know how to respond. All she could come up with was "Oh, really?"
Unfortunately, that provided a window for the woman to continue. "But I can top that," she said. "Sometimes, if I didn't have any adult diapers, I'd make myself a pallet in the bathtub and cover myself with a blanket from the waist up. Then, if I had to pee in the middle of the night, I'd just go right there, and everything would run down the drain. In the morning, I'd toss my covers to the side and rinse the urine off of myself."
Totally bewildered at this point, Misty was unable to form the words "Stop talking to me, you sick, demented twit!" and instead only uttered "Oh, really?"
Finally, the vet showed up to rescue Misty, but it was too late. The damage to her psyche had already been done.
It baffles me that this lunatic thought that her diaper/bathtub plan was actually a good idea. But worse, I can't see how she thought that telling someone else about it would be well-received.
I am pleased to say that Misty has no plans to attempt such sleeping arrangements.