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She did fuck off … to the next room, snickering all the way. Because she knew my feelings about things like pill cutters.
It’s like monogrammed material handkerchiefs or lounge shirts. Nobody wants a pill cutter or any piece of monogrammed clothing. Ever. Unless you’re Lando Norris or Tiger Woods, and building a brand.
Calling a pill cutter a gift is sacrilegious. It is at best an implement. A tool, given by a bigger tool.
Now that’s funny … tool.
People who own pill cutters, and things like pill cutters, should be neutered — this includes women. Which I realise is medically quite difficult, but where there is a will, there is a way.
The heart surgeon gave me the smallest tablet ever made, with the clear instruction that I am only to take half of it daily. This has become my wife’s entertainment for the day.
She arranges herself on a chair in front of me with popcorn and a Diet soda and counts the embolisms forming on my forehead as I attempt to split the atom with my hands. She finds this extremely funny.
