Wild Thing

Throughout my life I have acquired many nicknames, some of which are better left unsaid. Still it never fails that I meet someone new and they too, have some burning desire to give me yet another one. In fact, it was just this last week that I was dubbed "Wild Thing."

I was at the hospital, of course. It seems as if Memorial has become my permanent residency. I feel like I ought to set up shop in one of the empty rooms, but I digress. It was around midnight or so, and we were grateful for a few moments during which we could catch our breath and rest our legs. I was alone that night - "alone" meaning The Second wasn't working, neither was Santa Claus, and Momma, my saving grace, had called in with family matters. Luckily Alabama and The Baracuda were working on 1 Central and thus I decided to meander up the hall and chat with them for awhile.

Amidst the telemetry alarms sounding from the monitors, the phone ringing, and some AC DC pumping in the background were the sounds of 2 Southern accented laughs combined with the more Northern dissonate tones of my laughter. Around the corner walked Oatmeal's new protege, whom I have yet to assign a nickname. The Baracuda pathetically tried to maintain her composure as he struck up a conversation. I wasn't surprised when she admitted that she has a small crush on him, despite the rumors that he has one foot off the path, which she was quick to refute. And with the way he was flirting, I had no reason to believe otherwise.

Glancing over at me he said, "What's up Wild Thing?" Excuse me? " Where are you coming up with that one?" I asked. Apparently, according to his vampire logic, the small, quiet girls are really housing some wild beast-of-a-woman. Me of course, being small and supposedly quiet (ha. . . .you'll rue the day you branded me as quiet!) am a Wild Thing, or should I say "Thang"?

But what I really want to know is, why is it that being small and quiet makes me a Wild Thing? How come it can't be because I make everything groovy?