Here's a story:
Daphne is taking a shower.
She's washing her breasts when suddenly she notices a small, firm lump.
Nervously shaking, she quickly finishes her shower, puts on her robe, and goes to the den where her husband Andy is watching TV.
Her voice breaking, she asks him to pause the TV.
Yeah? he says.
I just found a lump in my breast.
Andy looks back at the TV. Daphne hopes that he's thinking about what she's saying and trying to come up with a comforting response. But, truth be told, it looks more like he's wondering when he can get back to his show.
I have a lump in my breast, she says.
You sure?
Yes, I'm sure! She starts to cry.
Okay. Okay. Calm down.
Calm down? Excuse me for being a little scared.
He takes a deep breath; then takes on a condescending gentle tone. It will probably go away. Just give it a few days.
I'm going to go to the doctor.
The doctor? he says. For a tiny little lump?
I don't want what happened to your mother happening to me.
Now she finally has his full attention. He looks directly at her. Are you kidding me? Are you really going to sit here and compare your little bump with what happened to my mother? How dare you. My mother had full blown breast cancer. And she had cancer in her lymph nodes. Her bones. Her brain! She went through surgeries, and chemotherapy. She lost her hair! And she's fucking dead. How dare you compare what she went through to your tiny little bump.
Daphne starts walking away, sobbing,
Andy slams down the remote. He gets up and follows her. And another thing. You know my mother is a very sensitive topic for me. Why would you bring it up? Are you TRYING to upset me?
No, Daphne says. But....
Just shut up, Andy says. There is no comparison with you and your little boob problem and the horrible things that happened to my mom.
Read my novel: The Dead are Online
