Words one would rather not hear

The phone rings. It’s Margie. She’s in the office today.

“Hi, Love.”

“Hi.”

“Well, you want the good news, or the bad news?”

I hate those sorts of questions. The answer should be the bad news, because that’s going to temper whatever good news comes out. I’d rather be uplifted at the end of the tale, rather cast down. Still, I leave it to the storyteller to choose the story. “Uh, whatever.”

Then come those words you really don’t want to hear.

“Well, the good news is, I’m okay.”

“Oh, frell …”

My immediate thought was that she was in a car accident. Well, no, it wasn’t anything like that, but …

They were having a chili sale at the office, funds to go to something or another. And, in the course of the soiree, she managed to dump most of an electric roaster of hot chili all over herself. And she was calling me from the (workman’s comp) doctor’s office.

Bottom line is, as she said, she’s okay. She does have second degree burns on her left hand and arms, and they want to see her again on Wednesday, but aside from that, she’s okay, aside from being still a little shaken up.

And that’s the only result I care about. But I could do with the phone calls of that sort … :-O