The Difference

Dearest one, have you ever wondered what fine line separates a normal person from a complete freak? No? All right, then, stop reading immediately. I won't say anything further.

I'm kidding, of course. I'm always going to say something further.

I had a little experience yesterday that made me pause and recognize this line, this delicate demarcation of character. This is what happened.

Tuesday was a truly hideous day. Honestly ghastly. Seriously craptastic. And as we stood together at the end of it, X-ray babe Nina, Nurse Wendy and I, the lab rat, as we stood trembling and shell-shocked from the horrors of the Tuesday that was, Wendy offered a theory.

The day was terrible, she claimed, because of an insufficiency of sugar and treats.

Neither Nina nor I disagreed with her. After all, this is health care. Snacks make everything better. Not saying the cancer goes away, but chocolate is still good.

Anyway. It was suggested that goodies should be part of Wednesday in order to make it all a bit more bearable. How could I argue with such logic, dear one? How, I ask you, could anyone?

So we finished our work and we left for home and, my dear invisible friend, this is where the reality of differences in sanity were made abundantly clear.

Wendy stopped at Safeway the next morning and picked up doughnuts.

I went home after fifteen hours in the workplace and made this:

It's a rhubarb-cream cheese pie.

No, I never made the recipe before. Yes, I was tired. No, I didn't just say, "Screw it. I'll bring in that box of graham crackers and some jelly." I looked up a brand new recipe, precooked the rhubarb, baked the fruit layer, whipped up the cream cheese part, baked the cheesecake layer, cooled the pie in a draft-free area for thirty minutes then chilled the pie overnight in the fridge. Then I washed the dishes and went to bed.

See how clear all of that is? I did all of that. Wendy brought in doughnuts.

Because Wendy is a normal person. I am a freak.