Today some dopey solicitor came into my office, offering those rubber “I heart boobies” bracelets. I told her I wasn’t interested. She persisted, and told me how inexpensive they were and that they were for charity. Again, I politely told her I wasn’t interested. She asked me what it was I didn’t like about them.
So I told her what I thought – that using a silly, childish term like ‘boobies’ to try and bring awareness to a disease that kills thousands of people a year was insulting. She didn’t like that. Then I told her that I doubt when my dad looked at his mastectomy scar every day he thought about his missing ‘boobie’.
She walked out, but when she was going down the stairs I heard her say, “God, what a BITCH.” HA.
My dad’s hair is coming back (thankfully – I know it sounds terrible, but it was really hard adjusting to him totally bald and sans facial hair) and it’s all gray. (His hair was brown, with a tiny bit of gray at the temples.) It’s really thin, and he says he’s looking forward to the day when his hair doesn’t feel like a terrier. (It’s also wiry.)
Sometimes it’s weird that we went through this whole thing, and it’s still weird telling people my dad had breast cancer.
I’m just glad that I get to say HAD.
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