Three Times #KidsintheHall Helped Me Through Shitty Stuff

1) Hotel LaRut

I was married, once. At 20, I was probably not ready to be married. My erstwhile ex-husband was definitely not ready to be married. All in all, marriage was a mistake.  I got a couple of pretty amazing kids out of the deal, so it ain't all bad, though.

I usually don't like to use identifiers here, because privacy, but this joke may not make a lot of sense if you don't know his name was Tony.

After we split up, whenever I was down and listless and complaining and crying, my best friend would put on a fake French accent and ask "What's wrong, my Michelle?" (Full disclosure: My name is not Michelle.  But you probably already knew that).

At this point I would slowly start to smile, and put on my own fake french accent..

"Oh, Silvee.. I can't help thinking about Tony..."



2) But Do You Love *Me*

I dated a dude once.  A dude, who although he professed to like an awful lot of things about me, always came back to how he just didn't quite feel *that way* about me.  Me, being the sucker I was, let him come back into my life numerous times, only to have the same conversation again, until I finally had to say "Enough!"



I'm not so sure this was one of those times where laughter is the actually the best medicine but those nights of drinking wine straight from the bottle while sobbing "I'm an icky, icky tree!" sure helped me work through some stuff.

"ICKY ICKY TREE"

3) The Cause of Cancer

Shitty things happen in life. Sometimes terrible, horrible things happen to good people.  Or, at the very least, to well-meaning people.

But, I digress.

When horrible things happen, sometimes it is comforting to have some kind of faith that everything happens for a reason.

We call those reasons 'Scapegoats'.

So when I was diagnosed with Stage 1 colon cancer, I had the perfect scapegoat in Bruce McCulloch. It helped that Bruce was always my least favourite Kid, so in a twisted part of my mind, it made sense that in his vengeance, out of spite for being my least favorite, that he would maliciously grow a tumour in my colon.




Dave's right. He doesn't even sound sorry.

Stuff We Need a Word For, Part 1 (TMI warning for ICKY LADY STUFF)

"A pervasive fear or anxiety that you have forgotten to replace your tampon*, and as such, are slowly bleeding into your underpants."

Does anyone else get this, or just me?

You're sitting there and suddenly you flash back to your last trip to the bathroom.  You distinctly remember removing a tampon, but have no real recollection of putting a new one in.

Did I forget? Is it still sitting there, in its wrapper, on the back of the toilet? 

Am I the only one who has had this nagging doubt?

"Was it a bad idea to wear white today?" - SOURCE

I am loathe to admit this, but the reason I suffer this anxiety is that it's happened to me.  Twice in one day.  God only knows what had me so pre-occupied that day, but ever since I find myself, at least once every cycle, besieged by a need to run to the nearest washroom and do a quick string-check.

Everyone gets this once in a while, right?

Oh, just me?

Perfect.

*Feel free to substitute with pad or DivaCup or what have you.  But if you're having a problem with not knowing if you're actually wearing a pad, let me know what brand you're using, please, because it's probably the best pad ever.