Can't You Just Call 911?

When Whitney was a youngster, she had this annoying habit of banging on the bathroom door while I was in there. Never mind if I was relaxing in a hot bath, plucking my eyebrows, or shaving my legs. It happened almost every time. Of course it was always something of utmost importance, like… “Mom, can I have something to eat?”, “Mom, guess who Kate is going out with?”, “Mom, Jessica’s sister is getting married!”, “Mom, can Brittany spend the night?”, “Mom can I go out for soccer this year?”, “Mom, where are my band shoes and black socks?” Okay, you get the picture. I could never quite get her to understand just how serious I was about wanting to be left alone. What part of a locked door didn’t she understand? Finally, I came up with something to help her put it into perspective. One evening before bath time, I made sure I had her undivided attention. Holding her eye contact, I spoke very clearly and with great authority. “Unless you are vomiting blood or the house is on fire, do not bother me while I am in the bathroom.” Quite effective, I must say. This tactic also works quite well with my mom. I have used it on quite a few occasions, not the least of which is season premier or finale of my favorite TV shows. Well, mom is out of town tonight, but if she were here, I’d be giving her The Warning. The day has finally arrived. The day Grey’s Anatomy fans everywhere have awaited for months now: The Season Premiere. So do me a favor. Between the hours of 9p and 11p EST tonight, please don’t call me or knock on my door unless you are vomiting blood or the house is on fire. And only then if you absolutely can’t manage without me. I’ll be with you at the next commercial break.
cathyb