Pleeze Come Into My La-bor-a-tory...

I’m going under the microscope today.
I feel like a bug in a Far Side cartoon.
I warned my eye surgeon I’d better not
see antennae sprouting from his head, or
see that he’s suddenly transformed into
a drooling mad doctor with a penchant
for experimentation. I’m going into the
O.R. with two eyes, doc--not three.

I’m not supposed to eat or drink before
surgery. Right now, I’m smelling scrambled
eggs and turkey bacon, and Tom just asked
if I could make him some coffee.
Cruel…

Another thing on the list is No Makeup.
God help me…Halloween is over, isn't it?
No lotions or perfumes--I’ll come out of
surgery smelling like a rubber tire.
Tommy Bahama…I need my Tommy!

I guess the hospital is afraid the patient
might light up--literally. It’s happened:
Combustible patients are really on the rise…
Check the sprinkler system--quick!

I’ll be glad when the Trilogy of The Eye is done.
Doctor Corrent said a few extra stitches
should fix the leak. Thanks, doc…
Winterize me while you’re at it!
B-rrrr...