Pickup Trucks

The sun is out, my hair is washed, and I’m feeling almost human today!  If my life was the original Broadway production of Rent, Idina Menzel would be leaning over me and cooing, “Her fever’s breaking.”  Then again, by that logic I’d also be a HIV positive stripper with a hankering for Heroin so perhaps we should drop that analogy stat.  Besides, while I’m feeling much better, I’m not sure I’m ready to belt out the Finale and wrap up with Season’s of Love.  Also my metallic blue spandex catsuit is at the cleaners.  Baby steps, people.

This time next week I’ll be radioactive inside a dark noisy tube.  Jealous?  All the cool kids are doing it, I tell ya.  Meanwhile the cancer-a-thon continues.  Over the weekend I made a brief appearance at a going away party for a friend moving to Connecticut.  I was almost instantly abducted by a mutual acquaintance that whisked me out into the rain for advice on his mother.  Sigh, you can take the cancer out of the girl…

Rocco motioned from inside that it was time to go and I was able to sneak away.  We headed south along Ninth Avenue, ducking in and under the awnings covering the sidewalk, avoiding what rain we could.  Once inside Port Authority, we both reflexively shook like wet dogs.  As the escalator pulled us upwards, Rocco looked at my face in the harsh fluorescent lights.  “What’s wrong with you?” he asked.

“I’m just feeling a little haunted.  All these cancer convos are starting to wear on me.”

“Who now?”

“That Guy’s mom is fighting a really nasty flavor and he is worried she has a bad attitude.”

“Do you think you helped?”

“Not likely.  I just don’t know how impartial and helpful I can be with my next scan looming over me.  Why is everyone suddenly asking me about cancer all the time?”

Rocco shrugged and answered simply, “You’re the friend with the truck.”

“Pardon?” I asked, confused.

“You’re the guy with the pickup truck.”  His hands never left his pockets as he elaborated.  “You’re the guy that everyone calls when they have to move because you’re the only person they know with a truck.”

Who’s a lucky girl?

Anyway, because there’s obviously a whole mess of people out there struggling to talk to people about cancer (me included) I thought I’d share a link I found just the other day. The post, entitled What to Say When a Friend Has Cancer was written by an inspiring breast cancer survivor named Jeanne Sather.  I think her suggestions are both kind and realistic.  I wish I’d found it before last week’s Burger Joint Debacle.

Now I’ll just refer any cancer inquiries received this week back to the blog and resume my blissful ignorance of all things cancer until next Tuesday when Aloysius will tell me I’ve made it a full year in remission, damnit.  I’m also going to trade in the truck for a Mini Cooper or some other vehicle lacking luggage space.

I need to get back on track.  Don’t you know I’m supposed to be focused on my boyfriend Edward and his new movie opening this week?!  Where are your priorities people?!  Wait, Bella had a pickup truck.  Maybe I shouldn’t be quite so rash…


    1. Now I feel a little chagrined that my actual car is a hand me down Honda. There’s a bag o’ concrete in the trunk though so I think I’m still covered.

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