E-Bay and Vicodin Don’t Mix

prom dress

I had my gallbladder taken out when my youngest was sixteen months old. Truth be told, I was terrified because my dad almost died as a result of his gallbladder removal. The morning he was transferred to intensive care, the doc told my mom to make sure all of his affairs were in order; such was the direness of his situation.

Alas, that was back in the eighties when they essentially had to filet you to even get to the gallbladder and its extraneous parts. By the time I had mine ousted it was an outpatient procedure.

Here’s how it went down. I woke up, went to the hospital, signed in, had surgery and walked back to the car all in four hours’ time. They didn’t even chauffer me out via wheelchair taxi, which just goes to show how far medical science has come.

What they did do is give me a super sweet prescription for Vicodin. Generally speaking, painkillers and I do not mix as this tale will so beautifully illustrate. I don’t actually have much of a memory of the day and a half following surgery. And it wasn’t until a very large box showed up on my doorstep that I discovered what I got up to. Apparently, in my drug induced haze I discovered E-bay. I’d heard of the wonders of this virtual garage sale paradise, but with two small children, I hadn’t found the time to investigate it. Enter Vicodin.

I dragged the box through my front door and stared at it, wondering who in the world loved me so much as to send me such a substantial get well gift. After folding back the flaps on the box I discovered, not one, not two, not twelve, but seventeen prom dresses. Prom dresses! What a weird gift.

Upon further investigation, I discovered a receipt for $194.00. Who sends such an outlandish package and then includes the receipt? I immediately tracked down my husband and asked if he sent me seventeen prom dresses.

He replied, “Are you still taking painkillers?”

I assured him I wasn’t. I got off them the day after my procedure, which apparently wasn’t soon enough. I showed him the receipt and he groaned in response.

“What?” I demanded. “What happened?”

Shaking his head, he answered, “You said something the night of your surgery about how amazing E-bay was. I ignored you because I knew you were stoned off your butt.” He hands me back the receipt, “It looks like you’re the one who bought the dresses.”

“Me? Why would I do that? None of them are even my size!” Not that I needed a prom dress.

A trip to the computer confirmed that I got into a rather heated bidding situation with Pageant Mama from Alabama and I showed her a thing or two about messing with a woman on Vicodin. I immediately contacted her to see if she wanted to purchase the dresses from me for the amount of her last bid but she declined. So there I was the proud owner of the last thing in the world that I needed.

What do I want you to learn from this tale? Take painkillers if you need them but make sure you stay off the computer and definitely turn over your credit cards to a trusted third party. In case you don’t heed my warning, check out Operation Prom. They’re a nonprofit organization that collects retired finery for girls who can’t afford to buy a dress of their own.

 

 

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