So I have things to say about our vacation in Charleston and the trashy festival that is the Indy 500......but not yet.
So I give you this treat from my day today..........
Not 5 minutes after walking in to work this fine Monday morning, my brother CJ (you know, the hypochondriac) walks up to me.
"Did you hear? I'm pretty sure I have male breast cancer." he says as he lifts his shirt revealing his bare chest.
Obviously two things go through my head: 1.) Really? 2.) HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
"Feel 'em. Go on....do it! But feel the left one first." So I reluctantly touch his "boob". "Feels pretty normal to me." I tell him. "Yeah I know. Now feel the right one." Again, I go about feeling up my bro. "OH! That's strange...what is that?" I say as a feel a sort of hard lump/mass.
"IT'S THE CANCER!!!!! I have a doctor appt. this afternoon."
"Of course you do."
I then talk to mi Madre about this alleged man breast cancer. She informs me this has been going on since last Tuesday. He has self diagnosed and made her feel/look at his tatas more than she ever signed up for. She said things took a turn for the worse when he read that "after some sort of mass forming another common sign, in men with breast cancer, is for the nipple to sink in a bit". He comes up to her (obviously lifting his shirt for her to see) "Look. Just look! Now my nip is sinking in."
"Of course your nip is sinking in! Every time I turn around you have your damn shirt lifted and your pushing your boob in trying to feel "the cancer"!!!!"
I texted CJ on my home from work.....
Court: "How's the tit?"
Court: "Just fine? No diagnosis? Is it normal or is it milk???"
I guess he doesn't think it's funny.
For your viewing pleasure....a photo of me and the hypochondriac as children. This picture was taken right around the time mi Madre apparently hated me and took (what I can only assume) were dull, possible rusty, scissors to my hair.