What I'll mumble about in my cardboard shanty

Around this time last year was one of four incidences annually when I caught an episode of Oprah. Frankly, I could not care less about what she has to say, not to mention the lousy time-slot which really does nothing for me. However, on that particular day, the theme was parasites. Now, let's take a moment here to recognize how ridiculous it is to use your incredibly influential power over the average North American woman, not to mention your potent hour-long broadcast to talk about PARASITES. Sixty minutes! WHY, Oprah, WHY?!

Okay, so I'm not a hypochondriac. Quite the opposite. Some day, I'll be like that lady who lived for months with a 90lb tumor with eyelashes and a British accent because she hated doctors. That being said, when it comes to things that are living on or in me, I'd rather not take any risks.

Needless to say, by the end of my Oprah hour, I was 100% sure that I have stomach worms. I did not have a dog at the time, nor did I spend much of my time smelling poop on the ground. I was low-risk to say the least. But in a testament to my neurosis, after two weeks of being grossed out by my own body, making up my own symptoms, and diagnosing myself based on them, I got the newf to take me to the pharmacy for the worm treatment.

The pharmacist then explained to me that it wasn't worm-season and that unless I had regular exposure to animals there was next to no chance of me having them.

I explained that I was quite sure that I did.

She asked what symptoms I was showing.

I looked away and pretended not to hear her while thinking of things that sounded about right.

Newf mention that I had seen it on Oprah and am a lunatic.

She looks me in the eye and asks if my anus had been itching at nighttime and a slew of symptoms more grotesque than that.

Swallowing my pride and lying through my teeth, I said "Yes, my anus HAS been itching lately. At nighttime, specifically."

Yes, I said those words out loud in public because THAT'S HOW MUCH I WANTED THE TREATMENT. At that point, it really didn't matter if I had them or not. The treatment was my magical elixir for sanity. I thought it would be all over with my $20 bottle of worm-away. But no. As I walked away, after the pharmacist had clearly seen enough evidence that I possessed the crazy gene to know not to open her mouth, she says: If you have it, so does your family. Unless they take the treatment too, you'll get it again.

Is provoking a crazy not against the medical code of ethics? Did she, or did she not, just encourage me to spend days plotting how I could sneak medication into my parents' tea? And plot I did. I weighed the pros and cons of fessing up to being partially insane and asking my folks to take it just to humour me, versus a fake kidnapping where their assailants would force them to take a mystery shot.

Mom, Dad - my mental instability was luckily cured when I took my dosage (the meds had some free time since there were no worms to worry about, instead they isolated the crazy). I didn't shove medication in your drinks. To you that might be a good thing. However, YOU CAN'T BE SURE YOU'RE CLEAN UNLESS YOU TAKE SOME.

That goes for all of you too. Please do me a favour, put my mind at ease, and treat yourself for worms. Just one tablespoon for you will do a world of good for my overall enjoyment of life.

Thank you.