I've been at work this weekend and am slightly deficient in anything witty to say. You could even say I'm fried like an egg. Toasted like a bride. Shot like a photo. Which reminds me...
I thought you all might like to see a picture of RC at work, so here you are. It's not really an accurate depiction though. My hair is a little darker and we don't use real glasses anymore and you'll never see flowers in the ER, but other than that I'd have to say it's the real deal. Don't let the small details throw you off.
Kind of a cross between Florence Nightingale, June Cleaver and (my RC alter image) Cherry Ames all rolled into one. With a little Mother Theresa thrown in for good measure. Because she worked with lepers, too. And drunks and drug seekers and gang bangers and people who seriously are too stupid to live. And way too stupid to procreate. And yet they do both. With gusto. And no small amount of spite.
I'm going to crawl in a hole and go to my happy place now. I'll have to wait to press my uniform and starch my cap until the morning.