Er...um...ah...I've gone back and forth about whether to post about this, and how much to post and what to write, but in the end I decided that this is my blog about me, and that includes the bad and the ugly, so - here it is. Back at the beginning of December I wrote that I'd had an examination of my Lady Parts, something I expected to be rote, a mere hurdle en route to the mammogram I'd promised my husband that I'd have. Not so, as it happens. The results of that exam came back surprisingly terrible. I have severe squamous cell dysplasia with carcinoma in situ - in other words, the most baddest worst extremely awful thing I could have without actually having full-blown cancer.

Not the greatest day of my life, to be honest. I have an appointment on Friday to discuss treatment options.

So. That's what I've been dealing with for the last 4 days or so, and the results of the mammogram aren't even back yet. Yay.

But even from the pit of despair comes great hilarity, and yesterday morning I woke myself up, laughing so hard from a dream. It may not be that funny to an outside observer, but I was rolling in our bed laughing, and got Alan laughing so hard he nearly blew Pelligrino out his nose, so here it is.

This part is true: occasionally our tiny little Chihuahua, Mister Fusspot, will bark and bark and bark at something that neither of us, nor our other dog, nor the cat, sees or hears. Not surprising when one has ears the size of salad plates...anyway, Fusspot will fixate upon something invisible to the rest of us, glare at it and raise a vociferous puppy ruckus, while the two humans and the other animals look at him like, "Dude??? What the hell???"

That is how my dream began, with Mister Fusspot outraged and barking, waking us from a sound sleep. We had a brief conversation, like "No, I think I really heard something!", "Hey, maybe we ought to check 'cause I actually heard something this time--" So in my dream, Alan and I got up and patrolled the house. Once out in the garage, he looked out at his car parked in our driveway and got totally, completely pissed.

In my dream, and I have no idea what put such a thing in my head, his little blue sedan was COVERED, completely covered, in lobsters. Someone had lobsterfied his Saturn. They weren't dumped in a careless truckload, but rather regimented rows of lobsters, spaced precisely fore-and-aft and back-to-front, marched from one end of Alan's car to the other. He was most highly pissed. This made dream-me laugh, and I was cracking up while Alan was totally ticked - it was one of those things where one fed the other, and the more I laughed, the angrier he got, but the more irked he was, the funnier I found the situation. I begged him to allow me to take a picture of his lobster-encrusted vehicle, adding what great blog-fodder it would be, and he grudgingly agreed so I headed inside to get our camera.

When I got back, though, I was angry because Alan had gone outside and started divesting his car of lobsters. In my dream, he was stomping around our driveway in nothing but his plaid boxer shorts, wielding a wide push-broom I use for sweeping out the garage, and bitching, "I've been lob-rolled! What are you laughing about?!? It's fine for YOU, your car isn't covered in freaking lobsters!"

"God damn it, Alan!" I shrieked. "This would have been my funniest blog entry of the year, but I have to have the picture because otherwise it's just me being weird. But if I could post the picture with all the lobsters all over your car, THAT'S funny!!!"

Alan is stomping all around his car, sweeping off lobsters with the broom and griping, "I don't care how funny your stupid blog might be, there are smelly stinky lobsters ON MY CAR, and you can just quit laughing, it's fine for you, YOU didn't get LOB rolled!!!"

I laughed so much I woke myself up, and all day today my husband has been sighing heavily and saying, "I got LOB-ROLLED!" Or at quiet moments, when all my dreaming inanity has been forgotten, I poke him and say, "Dude! You got lob-rolled!"