Two things I’ve learned in the past few days:
One: When a prescription says “take after meals,” it means after.
I’m taking a prescription anti-inflammatory for one of those “you’re not 29 anymore” injuries. The other day, I took it before dinner. My line of thought was, what difference does it make if you put food on top of the pill or under it?
Actually, it makes a big difference. At least, that’s what my stomach and then Keisha Grant told me.
Turns out that when my colleague was a young reporter trying to make ends meet, she worked part-time as a “licensed pharmaceutical technician.” She knew exactly what I was taking and exactly why my stomach told me it was going to make life very difficult that night.
If this TV thing doesn’t work out, that woman has a future.
Two: Speaking of careers, I suppose I’ve always been a bit ambivalent about “being on TV,” because I wasn’t smart enough to be a plumber. I come from three generations of plumbers. My father was comfortably retired when he was my age.
I bring this up because we needed a plumber recently. When the bill came the other day, I broke tradition and looked at it, just out of curiosity. (My wife pays the bills. I never look at bills because I’m from the “What I don’t know won’t hurt me” school.)
It reaffirmed my suspicion that I might be retired by now had I had the smarts to plumb. But I didn’t, so I do this, which has been a fine and safer alternative.
Still, it makes me wonder why a grand total of none of the people I know suggest their children pursue a trade. Not a one.
What would I think if someone’s child told me they wanted to grow up to be a plumber or an electrician?
I’d think they were the smartest kid in the room.