* * * Fred had a little touch-up plastic surgery in the doctor’s office yesterday. He had to take both Ativan and Demerol an hour before his appointment. When I pulled into the parking lot behind his office, I called to let him know I was there. I don’t actually go into that office unless I have to. “Hey, druggie!” I said. “Are you high?” He claimed not to be, but his words came a little slower than they usually do. When he came out the door, he was moving a little slower, too. “You’re hiiiiiiiigh! You’re hiiiiiiiiiigh!” I crowed as he got into the car. “No, I feel fine,” he slurred. Once we were home a few hours later, he ate lunch, worked on a story for a little while, and then crashed on the loveseat, with the fire going full blast. The cats started joining him, and by the time half an hour had passed, it was toasty warm in the living room, and there were cats sprawled out all over the place.

Tubby loooooves his daddy. Even I have to admit that Tubby’s mighty damn cute when he does stuff like this.
The doctor told me before we left his office not to be surprised if Fred couldn’t remember half the day, due to the drugs. I don’t know how much he remembers today, but I do know that there were MANY things that he repeated. I think I said “That’s the third time you’ve told me that!” several times. And on the way home, he recounted, word-for-word a conversation he, his doctor, and I had had, only he substituted the nurse for me, and had her saying what I’d said. Thank god he doesn’t have to take THAT particular combination of drugs too often, because I’d be constantly annoyed. Not that I’m not already.]]>