A few weeks later I go to get my blood tested. Have I . . . told this story before? About the cheerful Philippino women? Well, if I have, skip this whole thing. I go to get my blood tested, and the woman who's taking it is this cheerful Asian woman. I believe she is Philippino (is it Philippino or Philippine?) because of her physical features, and because she is cheerful yet tough, and all of the Philippino women I have ever met are cheerful, in that they smile all the time, but they don't take shit. Most of the women who worked at this blood place were Philippino and they were all giggling together, it was great.
Anyway, this woman was sticking me in the arm, and she asked, "do you do modeling?" and surprised, I answered no, and she replied that I had that "statue" of a model or something, probably something about my long goofy neck. I laughed and said that she probably said that to everyone who came in there, but she laughed back and said no she didn't. Then a minute or two later she asked how old I was, and I said twenty-three, and she was all shocked and said "Oh!" and I said with a smile, "why, do you have a son?" and she said yes. And I asked her how old she thought I looked, and she said seventeen. "You've found the fountain of youth!" she proclaimed. On my way out she suggested that I look into modeling.
Man, best blood ever taken. Relatedly, I was at my aunt's house this past weekend, and she was trying to force huge amounts of cakes on me when I left, and I said something about how I couldn't eat nearly any of it, and she said something about putting "meat on my bones." And earlier my dad had said that I looked as though I had lost weight since Christmas, even though I'm pretty sure I haven't. Awesome, all of that is awesome.
So the point of this story is not that I like it when grown-ups tell me I'm pretty; rather, it's that I waited and waited to hear about the test results. I wasn't too worried, I didn't think I would have anything, but of course you can't help but worry a little, right? So a few days later or something, I don't remember, I come home from work and there's a message on my answering machine. It's a message from my doctor -- not a nurse at the practice, but my actual doctor -- asking me to please call back about the test results. Ho-lee shit. I was terrified. Why didn't she just say it over the phone? It must be bad. I was not happy the rest of the day, not happy at all. The next day I called the office during lunch. The nurse put me on hold to get my doctor (eek, again!) who came on to tell me that all was clear. Phew! But man, what a thing to put a girl through!