My sister and her family have come all the way from Arizona to visit Canada and lounge around in lovely weather.

The day they got here was hot, hot, hot outside.  We grilled dinner on our back deck, ate corn on the cob, and pretty much lived it up in a drunk-on-summertime stupor.

That night, we were awoken at 4:30 a.m. by the second loudest crack of thunder I’ve heard in the last 22 years.  It was pouring rain, and we haven’t seen the sun since.

It’s chilly outside; our plans to spend hours lounging by the pool have been thwarted to the max.  Instead, we’re bundling up in our warmest clothes, making hamburger soup for dinner, and drinking hot cocoa in place of lemonade.  Hot chocolate, in August?  I never would have thought.  Winter is coming, winter is coming!  Stupid August.

Anyway, the Arizonans were so unprepared for the extreme change in weather, they didn’t even pack sweaters for themselves.  (“We should’ve known,” they joke, “that we can’t come to Canada and not bring our parkas.  How stupid.” Now they’ll never want to come back for a visit.)

Consequently, three out of five members of this household are hacking up their lungs.  We’ve all got colds in this House of Sickness, and we’ve made no less than three trips to the pharmacy in as many days.

I like going to the pharmacy, actually.  While I lived in Belgium, I learned that nine times out of ten, people there go to the pharmacist for medical advice before even thinking about talking to a doctor.  I had a few opportunities in Belgium to try it myself, and found I quite liked the one-on-one personal experience.  Since I’ve grown up (in the loosest sense of the word) and moved to Canada, I’ve gotten into the habit of consulting with local pharmacists any time Poor Kyle and I are in need of medical attention.

Ten bucks says this man is not a real pharmacist at all, but some man paid to look like one just because of that distinguished-looking dimple in his chin.  Image from here.

Have you ever asked a pharmacist about his or her medical recommendations?  If not, I suggest you try it the next time you’re ailing.  You’ll never see people drop what they’re doing so fast, just to answer a simple question.  Those pharmacists, they love doling out advice.  It makes them feel valued, I think.

I feel sorry for pharmacists.  I mean, really?  You couldn’t hold out just a few more years in college to become a real physician? It’s like being a CIA agent, but with a cubicle.  And no gun.  And pharmacists, they know it; they know that they were just one step away from being the real deal, but for whatever reason—lack of funds, aversion to blood—they couldn’t quite make the cut to Doctor.

Well, I shouldn’t be snippy about it.  I like pharmacists.  Every pharmacist I’ve ever talked to has known—off the top of their heads, no less—exactly what aspects of which medicines will help combat various symptoms.  They’re brilliant people, and their career choices are none of my dadgummed business.

Brilliant, I say.  And I have an appointment with one first thing tomorrow morning.

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