Don’t you hate when you predict the future and your prediction turns out to be 100% accurate?

My doctor gave me a business card for a therapist and it has resided safely in my purse for a week.

Every time I thought to call and make an appointment, the card was safely in my purse – in another room, and if you’ve ever been depressed, you know that the trip to the other room (and back) just for your own care and wellbeing just doesn’t seem worth it.

Well, my dear, dear sister has been noodging me about it (because she loves me). So after swim yesterday, I transferred the card from my purse to my bra.

Perfect. Now when I got home, I could remove the card and either (a) call; or (b) put it on my computer stand so the next time I think of calling I will have no excuse and it might actually happen! Yay me.

I also had a mammogram scheduled for that afternoon (done and all is well with my bodacious tatas, I am happy to report), and I said, “Watch. I’ll forget the card is in my bra, go to the mammogram, and lose the card.”

Guess what happened. Go ahead. I’ll bet you can.

Yup. Went to the mammogram; changed in and out of my clothes and now I no longer have the card.

Fuck.

Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

You think that card would at least have had the decency to stick to my boob, so the radiologist would see it and hand it to me for safekeeping. But nooooooooooooo – for once, something just fell out of my bra. For fuck’s sake, no lie, I have taken off my bra and my iPhone is glued to my breast. (What can I say, boob sweat – nature’s adhesive – except, apparently for business cards.)

And now my doctor’s nurse seems to be at a loss to understand exactly what information I’m asking for. (I finally asked her to just ask the doctor after she came up with several wrong suggestions about what I want.) ARGH.

(Photo is me playing Madame Arcati in Blythe Spirit, lo’ these many years ago.)