Sex in a Wheelchair

My new phone has a great feature. You can talk into it, like a microphone, and it translates your words into texts. Perfect for those with slow or fat fingers or for those whose nearsighted vision isn't what it used to be. Also a great benefit for those who might be tempted to text and drive. I was texting/talking to my daughter who was in Washington, D.C., on her way to Georgetown Cupcakes to pick up some of their delicious confections to bring back home to Indiana tomorrow.

"What kind of cupcakes do you want, Mom? Red velvet, coffee, chocolate, lemon...." she asked.

"Yes. One of each," I texted. "Get an assortment - I'll pay you back."

"How many? Six or a dozen?" she wrote.

Now, these cupcakes are wonderful, but expensive. A half-dozen cost around $15.00. I would have loved a dozen, but resisted.

"Sex in a wheelchair."

I had said, "Six and we'll share", but my cell phone took it the wrong way. Hilarious. I sent the message anyway. Chelsea, and my family, have come to expect these strange texts. They remind me of the old days of typing on a real typewriter (with carbons and white out), making typos and laughing my head off at my mistakes. I am not the best typist, which is odd for one who is a writer AND an administrative assistant. In fact, I don't really like typing except when I'm writing a story.

"If you don't like to type," asked an office friend, "why in the world are you a secretary?"

"Because they weren't hiring clowns at Purdue," I replied.

I had great news today. Got a call from my surgeon's office, and they told me that some test results came back from California. Evidently, this fancy-schmancy test can predict what kind of therapy would be most effective post-surgery, as well as indicate your chances of having another bout with cancer. "You have a score of 6%," the voicemail relayed to me. "That means you have an extremely low chance that the cancer will return."

Not only that, but finally "the moon is in the seventh house," meaning I could schedule my MRI for Easter Monday. We're finally moving forward. Once that test is done and interpreted, surgery is a go - most likely in early May. After that, a little R & R at home with my drain bag, and back to civilization within a few weeks.

So much to live for. So much to be grateful for. It looks like I'll be around for while, after all. Hmmm, maybe sex in a wheelchair isn't so far-fetched, after all!

My new Spanish resource, Speak in a Week! (what a lie), provides my phrase for the day: Yo le escribía cada dia. I used to write to her every day.