Friday, April 16, 2010

Mutter, May I?

I'm considering a donation to the Mutter Museum.

For those of you who have not had the pleasure of visiting the Mutter, it's a museum in Philadelphia "founded to educate future doctors about anatomy and human medical anomalies."

I am not considering a monetary donation. I would like to donate Lucille. So that she may educate future doctors.

I think Lucille (my lipoma, which I plan to have removed from my back in a few weeks) would be right at home with the Mutter's "collection of over 20,000 unforgettable objects, such as fluid-preserved anatomical and pathological specimens and skeletons."

I am not sure that Lucille would be considered a "one of a kind treasure" of the Mutter Museum, like:

The plaster cast of the torso of world-famous Siamese Twins, Chang & Eng,
Joseph Hyrtl's collection of skulls
the preserved body of the "Soap Lady"
the collection of 2,000 objects extracted from people's throats or
the cancerous growth removed from President Grover Cleveland.

But, still. I am pretty sure Lucille would be in good company with the "Soap Lady." She could cozy up to the torso of the Siamese Twins, and, no doubt, gross people out for centuries to come.

I also think a donation to the Mutter is particularly appropriate since it was the site of the 3rd date my husband and I shared. After our 1st date (drinks at Rouge) and our 2nd date (dinner at Radicchio), I thought we needed to try something off the beaten path.

I suggested the Mutter Museum. He was game. My husband claims he knew he wanted to marry me as he watched me stroll along the glass cases, grimacing at one medical abnormality after the next, repeating the word, "Ewwww! Eww! Ewww!"

"Check out Grover Cleveland's tumor!" he pointed out, with wonder and disgust all over his face.


"Did you see the 19th century stirrups and forceps?"


"I'm so nauseous, I have to get out of here," I finally confessed to him after 7.5 minutes in the museum.

"Perfect, let's go to brunch," he smiled. "That is, if you still have an appetite."

Just think, a century from now, Lucille could be the catalyst for another young couple's union. Their eyes might meet over a dusty glass display case containing Lucille. They might exhale lovingly the very same word at the very same time: "Ewwwwwwwww!" And the rest will be history. When their future grandchildren ask them how they fell in love, they will tell them one word:


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