BlogEvolve.com

I had been without a pulmonologist for a year or so, ever since my original guy decided to switch his specialty to some other body part. I hadn't planned to replace him, since I was still more or less breathing and had enough doctors attending to my various other organs to keep my calendar filled. But when my primary sweetie-pie, Dr. Groucho, insisted, I made an appointment with the lungologist he recommended.
So I'm sitting on the examining table, and in walks this twelve-year old in a white coat, brand new stethescope glittering around his neck, trying sooo hard to be professional. And I couldn't help myself. SuperCrone took over and exclaimed, "Doogie! Does your mother know you skipped school today?"
Poor kid! He went into a total tailspin. Turned beet red, dropped the stethescope, started sweating and trembling so hard he couldn't find my pulse. I let up long enough for him to regain a little composure, but when he reached under my shirt, and I said to my sister (who was doubled up on the visitor's chair, LHAO), "Oooh. Doogie's going to second base!" he really lost it. He blushed so hard I was afraid he'd burst a blood vessel. And when he felt my ankles and I told him "A little higher and toward the middle, please", he actually had to leave the room.
I know, I know. Maybe there should be a sign reading, "Please don't tease the doctor", but good grief, how can I take this infant seriously? I have underwear older than he is! I think doctors, teachers and policemen should be more mature than one's grandchildren, and if they're not, they're fair game for sport.
As I keep saying, there are advantages to living in the Crone Zone, and I intend to keep taking them until my expiration date arrives. [For further instructions on becoming a SuperCrone and to learn how to get away with your own outrageous shenanigans, avail yourself of a copy of my book (from the Department of Shameless Promotion)]. www.lulu.com/RuthDickson.

Bookmark/Search this post with:
| | | | | | | | | | |