Today I was telling G, my counselor, that I was listening to an NPR story about George W. Bush’s heart surgery and was struck by how weird it is to be such a public figure that a fairly common medical procedure makes the national news.
How weird would it be to have my medical issues reported on? “Today, Hope had a colonoscopy. Doctors have reported that her colon is all fucked up.”
G said, “Yeah, the paparazzi would follow you around and take pictures of you bringing a bag of stool samples to the lab.”
I snickered. “Then we’d have to call them the pooparazzi.”
I’m not so secretly an eight-year-old boy, and I think I’m hilariously clever.