Me: Hey, how are you?
Her: Fine, why?
Me: Because mom say she’s been thinking about you and she has a feeling you’re in the hospital.
Her: I am, in Admitting. Do me a favor? In the future, don’t tell me when she says stuff like that. She always does stuff like that–thinking about people and hospitalization–right before they die.
Me: But you’re ok?
Her: Yeah, doctor says I’m perfect. Tell her to stop doing that, it creeps me out.
Me: Ok, and you’re not perfect.
© Laura Genao 2007
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