“Right, last item on the agenda:
What are we going to do about this persistent emailer and phoner?
Of course I mean Liz.
If I’m honest we did say that we’d do the operation in early January but actually, looking at my diary, I don’t have a slot until March. Any ideas how we can get round this?
What was that Sandra?
No, if we just send an appointment through for March, then she’ll kick up a stink about getting older and probably bring up all the other months she has spent waiting for other appointments. We need to think clever…
That, my dear, is a fantastic idea. We’ll offer her an appointment on Christmas Eve. She’s a posh type, so is bound to be going off to the countryside with Mummy and Daddy and can’t possibly be able to make it. But if we offer it to her then she’ll have no come back if we send her next appointment through for March.
I’ll phone her now.
Shhh … it is ringing … stop giggling.
Er… ahem … Hello. Is that Elizabeth?
Great, well, we have an appointment date for you. The 24th of December.
Yes, Christmas eve. Can you make it?
Oh. Oh you can? Er, I see. Well. Great. See you there.
Shit, shit, shit. She can only bloody come in? What now?
There is no way there’ll be a slot in surgery on Christmas Eve.
Look, Sandy, does that anaesthetist still fancy you? Good. I’ve got a plan.
We’ll get her in. Knock her out for about an hour and just tell her we’ve done the operation when she comes round.
No, of course she won’t be able to tell that we’ve done nothing. She’ll just think that she was knocked out for all of it. She won’t expect to feel anything. And we’ll just tell her to keep taking the pain killers so that if she wonders why she doesn’t feel any pain she’ll just assume that they are fantastic drugs.
Of course we’ll give her the placebos.
Well I think that is all.
Thanks for your time.
Oh, wait a minute.
Wait … hello … bugger, everyone has gone. Only I was wondering who was going to write the fake notes for her operation.
Dammit. Well, I’m not going to do it. She’s mouthy enough she can damn well tell them what she wants herself when she goes for her ‘operation’.”
This is what I like to call: ‘a comedic way of explaining why I feel so well and unviolated after my so called operation’ and what the husband likes to call: ‘Oh no, you didn’t try and do a funny did you? Don’t do funnies’.