Marital Banter

The phone rang this morning and it was my husband.

“Hey, I just wanted you to know that the doctor is going to take this thing off my face, and there will be a few stitches,” he said.

“What thing? I didn’t know there was a thing. I thought you were at work.”

“Well, you should pay better attention.”

I could tell from his tone he was nervous.”Wait,” I said. “Are you at my plastic surgeon’s office? Ask him if he got our Christmas card.”

“He did. I’m looking at it right now.”

“Oh, good. Tell him that if anything happens during your procedure they can go ahead and pull the plug. Hello. Hello??”


I chose this photo because the photographer had forced us to hold hands, and the awkwardness is palpable. Brantley actually said the words, “Please make it stop.”

Crank Calls

There have been times when my crank calls have gone terribly wrong. Those are stories for another day, but suffice it to say I haven’t learned my lesson. Crank calling Brantley at work is one of my favorite pass times, and some would argue (ok, just me) that it’s a legitimate hobby. When crank calling gets recognized as an Olympic sport I will wave my gold medallion in your faces.

The art of CC’ing requires a good bit of work. There are disguised voices involved, not to mention the back story and the slightly ridiculous request or complaint I will call with. Up to ten minutes can be spent at one time just to get lucky enough for Brantley to answer the phone. When I hear the voice on the other line say, “This is Brantley. May I help you?” that’s when I pounce.

The following conversation occurred two days ago.

Brantley- “This is Brantley. May I help you?”
Redneck lady- “You sure may. This is Eunice Petty. Do you all sell Massengill?”
Brantley- “Only by the gallon.”

At that point the line went dead and I can only assume that he hung up. We haven’t had a chance to discuss it since then, but I’m fairly certain he knew it was me. I will spend some time this week cultivating my character a bit more. Perhaps she wears a hat, or sounds a little more downtrodden. One thing is certain, and that is Eunice Irene Petty better be receiving her gallons worth of feminine care.

Guest Blogger, Brantley Wescott

The leaves are falling off the trees and the weather has begun to cool off. For many people the month of October is synonymous with their favorite time of year. It also marks the time of year that people commemorate their favorite cause, American Pharmacists Month. I would like to thank you in advance for the cards and letters of thanks that my fellow comrades and I will be receiving over the next 31 days.

Keep in mind that we work tirelessly to read your doctor’s handwriting, count by fives until we get to thirty (sometimes even ninety), and say over and over again, “Yes, it really DOES cost that much even with your insurance.”

You’re appreciation won’t go unnoticed. Please go to your local pharmacy, give your pharmacist a hug, and tell them that in honor of American Pharmacists Month you would like to register for the Free Ambien Giveaway. You’ll be glad you did.


Brantley L. Wescott, PharmD

Brantley-isms, There’s No Safety in Silence

My husband was blessed with a lot of things. He has a wonderful personality. He’s good looking. He’s a good provider and a hard worker. Those are all great qualities, but there is one quality that he was not blessed with, and that is tact. The absence of tact has come up from time to time in our marriage. However, there are usually long breaks between each tactless episode so that I almost forget to be afraid.
Segue into date night with our friends a couple of weeks ago. Brantley was working until six o’clock that evening so I rode with our friends. As we waited on the interstate off ramp for the red light to change we saw Brantley up ahead. He was on the highway waiting for the same light. The top was down on his convertible and he was looking cool in his shades. We honked and waved to him, and when he saw us, a big smile came across his face. Ice ran through my veins. I had seen that evil smile before. He knew all of our eyes were on him and I could feel that something bad was about to happen.
Before I could even speak, Brantley sat up as straight and tall as he could. I cringed as he raised to giant middle fingers into the air, and slowly began to drive (hands free). I could see drivers in front and behind him looking at each other in a “What’s this guys problem?” sort of fashion. A few moments later, he lowered his giant hands and drove away. “Wow,” I said to my friends. “We’re meeting that guy for dinner.”
He’s been on his best behavior since that incident, but I know better than to get comfortable. Just when I begin to think that I have the most perfect husband, I turn around and see him mowing the lawn as he shuffles his feet with his pants around his ankles to make the neighbors laugh. That ladies and gentlemen, is my little piece of heaven.   

A Brantley, and a Luke-ism: Double Your Pleasure

Last night Brantley was continuously not following my orders. It was almost as if he was exercising free will.

Me- “Look, if you want to ride my gravy train, then you’re going to have to follow my rules.”
Brantley- “And what gravy would we be talking about?”
Me- (I pointed to a paycheck on my dresser.) “That gravy. Booya.”
Brantley- “That’s not even a giblet.”

Later on, Brantley took the front off of Luke’s crib to transition into the big boy bed he’s about to be getting. We’ve tried this before and were met with resistance, but I digress. In celebration of this milestone Luke decided to wake up at 5:30 this morning and scream my name until I staggered into his bedroom. He took one look at me and asked, “Mom, is you ashamed? Is you ashamed, Mom?”
I mustered the energy to speak only by imagining a cup of coffee in my hand. “No, Luke, I’m not ashamed. But, it’s not even 6am. Give me time.”

Date Night

Brantley and I had a date night on Friday. We went to the movies to see Bridesmaids, which was hilarious, and when the movie let out it was pouring down raining. Like a perfect gentleman, Brantley set out to retrieve the car so he could pick me up at the door and I wouldn’t have to get wet. (I don’t believe in umbrellas, but that’s a story for another time.) He pulled up to the sidewalk in front of the theater, reached across the passenger seat, and flung the door open. “Get in!” he shouted, but I didn’t…because it wasn’t me. A few feet away from me stood a girl wearing an outfit similar to mine, who most likely thought she was about to fall victim to the laziest kidnapper of all time.
I stood watching all of this from afar and, after he realized his error, he pulled up to where I was standing. “Was she not interested?” I asked. “Negative,” he responded, “But you’ll do.”
It was a truly romantic evening.

Brantley-isms from Margaritaville

I’m on vacation in Florida all this week so don’t expect to hear from me again. Not because I think blogging is work, but rather because I’m having to sit in the parking lot of a place called Harry T’s while I steal their wifi.
So far, the week has been super relaxing and tonight we attended a free concert at the Baytowne Wharf. While enjoying the music, I spotted what I thought to be an old girlfriend from nursing school. I nudged Brantley and asked him if he thought it was the same girl.
“I don’t know what she looks like,” he said.
“What do you mean, you don’t know what she looks like? She came to our wedding.”
“Lori, how am I supposed to remember anything about that day?”
“Good point,” I said.
“I do kinda regret being that wasted at our wedding,” he added.
“We all do, Sweetie. We all do.”


I haven’t posted anything in several days because I was a little under the weather, and Brantley had me on a strict technology hiatus while I rested.  As you might imagine, I couldn’t have spent that much time relaxing with my family, without hearing one or two Brantley-isms.  I apologize ahead of time for this one.

One night as we sat watching Curious George, I became exasperated.  “Why on earth does the man with the yellow hat keep George around if he constantly messes everything up?”
Brantley spoke quietly so Luke couldn’t hear what he said.  “Are you kidding me?  Three words- monkey hand jobs.”
“Isn’t that two words?” I asked.
“No, I’m pretty sure ‘hand’ and ‘job’ are two separate words.”
“Hmm, I’m not so sure.  Besides, that’s ridiculous.”
 He added, “You know, monkeys basically have two sets of hands.”
“Ok, enough. Thank you.”

I haven’t seen that show in the same light since.

The Handsome Exterminator

We have a very handsome exterminator.  I will call him, Daniel, because that’s his name.  Whenever he goes to your house, you’re the envy of the neighborhood.  I should mention that it is perfectly acceptable to sexually harass Daniel BEHIND his back.  I repeat, acceptable AND harmless, as long as he never knows.   

I had just lathered my hair when Brantley burst into the bathroom.
“The bug man’s here!”
“On a Saturday?  Dang it,” I told him. “I won’t be out in time. Did he ask about me?”
“Did he say, “Hey, how’s your wife?” No, he didn’t, but he IS looking good.  His beard has come in nice and full, too.”
“Tell him I said, hey.  Then, come back and tell me what he said.”
“No. I’m not doing that.”
“Ok, then throw something on the floor so he has to bend over and pick it up.  You can do it up to three times without it being suspicious.”
“I’m leaving now.  You’re freaking me out.”

By the time I was out of the shower, Daniel the bug man had come and gone.  He had, however, been there long enough to secure our house of pests with his big, strong arms.  I’m keeping my fingers crossed that we have another ant problem this summer.  As long as Brantley doesn’t catch me painting the house with honey, I’ll be just fine. 

Bad Dreams

“You’ll never get those sunglasses off.” My niece, Ciara plainly stated.

“Yes, I will!” I tugged and tugged but they were stuck to my face with what seemed like industrial strength cement.

“Didn’t you read the tag that came with them?” she asked. “It said guaranteed NOT to come off.”

“I don’t care what it said. I’m tired of wearing them,” I shouted back.

I awoke from the dream with a start. The strange thing was, my arms actually felt tired. It was as if I had really struggled while I was dreaming. That’s when I looked down and saw the nose splint that had previously been affixed to my freshly fractured and post-operative nose. It was resting in my hands, and my hands in my lap.

I jumped out of bed after realizing what I had done. “I ripped it off! I ripped it off!” I shouted. Brantley finally rolled over and removed his ear plugs. “Why did you do that?” he asked.

“I was dreaming, Brantley. I thought I was wearing sunglasses and I ripped it off like the freaking Incredible Hulk!”

He rolled BACK over. “You have the weirdest dreams.”

All of this excitement occurred before 6:45 this morning. So now, we wait for my 9:30 appointment with the surgeon. Happy Wednesday.