Originally posted on greenfairydotcom
It occured to me this evening, while leaping around my living room on one leg clutching my other foot and yelling "cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt cunt", that Google has completely replaced my mother.
Because in that five seconds after having stepped on that wasp spent reflecting that considering I'd never been stung by anything before and what was I going to do about the pain besides cutting my foot off, my first coherent thought was "wasp AND sting AND sole of foot". Not, as undoubtably it would have been once not so long ago, my parent's phone number. That's why I'm sitting here talking to you with a slipper full of ice cubes made from frozen lemon juice.
And it's working. I no longer feel pain. I no longer feel my foot at all, but I'm not too bothered about that. Google has triumphed, and I do not have to fend off my mother's inevitable - terribly endearing but ultimately frustrating - insistance on calling an ambulance for her poor injured offspring. Other ways in which Google has also saved me from recourse to my mother in the past month: