I’ve piked out

Having a well developed sense of irony, I spent yesterday afternoon dosed up on Codral (yes, I have a coldy thing now), lying on the couch, watching He’s Just Not That Into You and fretting about my cervix.

Don’t you wish you were me?

And I’ve decided several things.

Colds suck. Codral rocks. I’m Gigi from He’s Just Not That Into You, without the sappy happy ending (but with lashings of the delusional obsessiveness). And I’m piking on the lady plumbing surgery.

Not permanently piking. Just not doing it on September 30. I’m not ready, on so many levels.

Besides, it’s not like I’m going to cark it if I put it off for a few months. I just means I’ll do lots of Carrie re-enactments.

I’ve been inundated with “you won’t regret it” messages from people whose mothers/sisters/friends have had hysterectomies. No one seems concerned about their missing cervixes. I haven’t been told any terrifying pants-falling-down-because-the-belt-was-taken-away stories. No weird emptiness anecdotes.

So everything will probably be just fine.

I don’t even think the universe hates me any more for being a terrible party host and distracted wife.

I’ve just been a bit unlucky lately.

Heaps of people survive much worse. As I told an old school friend: It’s pretty ordinary news. But I refuse to let it beat me. I am determined to win at this life thing, no matter what shite it throws at me.

Thank you for caring so much dear followers. The ones who’ve known me forever, the ones who’ve become friends more recently, the ones who’ve never met me but still take the time to read the blog and send kind words my way.

Codral isn’t the only thing that rocks, you do too.

(And, it seems, He’s Just Not Into You isn’t the only thing with a sappy ending.)