Just Sign Here, Please

          In my last blog I told you I signed “Zorro” on all my hospital forms. This is absolutely true. My handwriting is so sloppy that it kind of looks like the way I sign Joni Hilton anyway. But St. Bob found out and was a bit concerned that I might get in trouble. 

          You mean worse trouble than having a mastectomy (twice, if you count the repair), then nose dermabrasion, then having lymph nodes removed? And I lost count of the biopsies in the clinical trial. I’d like to see what further “trouble” they can conjure up!

          Does he think this is going to go on my permanent record? I mean on Zorro's permanent record? 

          Or maybe he’s worried they’ll want to take everything back. Oh, be my guest!  Rewind that tape and return the breast and the lymph nodes? Sign me up. “Uh, here’s the tissue we removed, Ma’am.” And what can they possibly repossess-- stitches? I need those removed anyway.

          How about a lawsuit?  This I would welcome because I guarantee the judge will step down off the bench, come over to me and give me a high five. 

          Same thing happened when I was called to jury duty and then dismissed for being a comedy writer.

          Zorro it is.

Have you ever read a book by Zorro? Aha-- now you can. Well, sort of. Find all my books right here.

Alter Ego

Here’s how to look like a super spy. First, have a mastectomy that requires a drain. This handy tube will connect to a little bulb that looks like a hand grenade.  It will rest in a little pouch at your waist.

Now put on any top, shirt, or jacket. You will see a bulge that looks like you are totally packing heat, and lots of it. Folks will think you’re armed with a Glock and a silencer, maybe even a machine gun.

But wait, there’s more. Now have basal cell skin cancer on your nose, which will require a bandage (read: disguise). No one will ever be able to identify you in a lineup!

Last, be thinking of these daring superheroes when you’re in the hospital to have lymph nodes removed later. You’ll be filling out a zillion boring forms as if purchasing a condominium for crying out loud (well, that’s not all they’re for), and you’ll think, “Wait. I’m a caped crusader. I shouldn’t have to sit here and sign ‘Joni Hilton’ on everything.”

And you’ll realize your signature is always such a rushed mess that nobody can read it anyway, right?  And then you’ll do what I did on every one of those forms: You’ll sign them all Zorro.

And then you’ll order my books to read while recovering.