A few weeks ago, a friend and I got street cred. That’s right: we spent a night at the ER. The GW Hospital ER, in fact, which I think is named for Ronald Reagan, along with about 50 million other things prior to his death (although, I can make a strong argument that one in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s isn’t exactly the same person that you knew when they were “on,” and for most intents and purposes, that former being has passed on at the very least). Other than seeing someone get wheeled in with a police escort and then hearing someone else request over the PA system that “the Breathalyzer be returned to the nurses’ station,” nothing exciting happened. Even the ailment for which we had gone to the ER had disippated. Good thing the room had other things to keep us entertained, like this sticker on the biohazardous waste bin. It’s not a great photo because my camera phone isn’t the best, but in case you think your eyes are deceiving you, here is a closeup. So, the sticker, stuck on the bin upside down, is of a crawling baby and says in both Spanish and English, “THIS IS NOT A BABY WIPE.” I’m not sure why anyone would think that a random bin with a lock on it, affixed to a wall would be a baby wipe, never mind contain baby wipes. Maybe this is just one of those things I won’t understand until I am a mom.
And speaking of being a mom, here’s more reason to have kids with a spring chicken (well, not literally; that’s illegal in most states). The NY Times just reported on a study linking older dads (not older moms) with higher incidences of offspring with bipolar disorder.
Off to troll the local college campuses…..