It’s Not Always Thicker
That might be last time I communicate by SMS with her.
I checked in, make sure she’s healthy, well,
and Okay. She is, she says, Okay. Fine.
As well as can be expected, she says.
Kids, Okay. Husband, Okay. And then says
that her blood group makes her susceptible
to COVID-19. Says she read that she’d die
from it because she’s an A Positive blood type.
The blood type theory’s been debunked, I say.
I read, too (though I didn’t say that last bit).
You know your blood type? I ask.
She says it was a school experiment.
What blood group are you, she says.
I didn’t do that experiment in school.
And I think, shit, I don’t know. Why
would I need to know that. If I need
blood, I’m apt to be unconscious, and
won’t be speaking in Letters anyway.
She says in the USA everyone knows
their blood group. I tell her that here
doctors don’t test for that information
unless it’s a need to know situation.
So I ask my husband if he knows his
blood group, and he says …
You and I are both O Positive. He
remembers from our marriage licence.
And I tell her that I’m an O Positive.
And she says …
That’s it. OH. I stare at those letters,
thinking, Huh? What? OH?
Not like an Oh at the beginning of
a song like “Oh what a beautiful morning,”
more like, OH Full Stop Period The End
Shrug Eye-Roll Middle Finger Up Yours.
And that was a week ago, and I am
still wittering on about it. Wittering.
I love that word.
Miz Quickly’s Synonyms