Before I get to the story of the day, I have to clear something up. I forgot to answer questions from two lovely readers. I just skipped right over them. How rude.
Kelly Green Rogue asked:
How do you take your coffee?
I take it and I flush it down the terlet, because coffee is a nasty teeth-yellower that makes you have stank breath. No coffee for me!
If you could only listen to one cd for the rest of your life what would it be?
Eh. I don’t care much really. Hall and Oates Greatest Hits? Funky Funky Christmas by the New Kids on the Block? Paul Anka Sings the Blues? That last one isn’t real, but I kinda wish it was.
Do you wear sensible librarian shoes to work or something with a little more flair?
If you knew me in person, this would be the most laughable question in the world. Like, snort milk out your nose laughable. Of course I wear sensible shoes. If by sensible you mean Fierce and Faboo and definitely NON-DOWDY. I am without question 100% against dowd. Want an example? Here’s what I wore today.
What is your favorite random act of kindness to bestow on total strangers (or people you know, but strangers is more fun)?
I’m kind to total strangers every single day, through my job. Awww, cheesy! But true.
Ok, I think I got to all the questions. If not, nudge me again and try not to call me a forgetful buttmunch, even though it may be just a little bit justified.
Here’s the deal. You know how I was on the hunt for a good hair stylist for a long time? I went to the super foofy place, and the WWE haircutter, etc. I finally did find someone, and I thought my searching was over.
But now, I am trying to find a good doctor. My insurance changed a while back and I have been in doctor-hell ever since. I can’t find a good one! And I have great insurance! How can this be? Where have all the good doctors gone?
Maybe I am spoiled. My dad was a doctor, the kind that people loved. I grew up in my town and people would stop me on the street to tell me about how my dad was the awesomest of the awesome. This is because, aside from the doctoring, my dad has the peeple skillz. He makes people feel good. He listens. He respects.
I went to this doctor the last few times I needed doctoring. The first time I saw her, she was super abrupt. It was like I was on the assembly line of health and she had to finish up with me because she had another lump of human tissue coming in any minute. She was a little bit rude. She made me feel like I was taking too long. Hurry up and tell me your symptoms! I am a doctor and I am so busy and important you know!
In a weird way, at first I kind of liked her. I tried to slant her abrupt-bordering-on-rude to mean that she was direct. To the point. And that was good, right? I don’t need a doctor to sugarcoat! I am tough feminista librarian! Give me the facts!
I went to her last week. I wanted to talk to her about something totally unrelated to my ladyparts. (The reason I am saying that is because it’s relevant to the rest of the story, not because I want to all the sudden talk about how I wasn’t talking about my ladyparts.) I had a concern. And she scoffed at my concern. SCOFFED.
Where in the bedside manner handbook does it talk about scoffing? What page? I want to see what PAGE.
After she scoffed at me and made me feel like I was a Total and Utter Waste of her precious Doctor JuJu, she says this:
Her: So, anything else?
(Not, how are you otherwise? Not, do you have any more questions? Nope. ANYTHING ELSE?)
Me: No, I think that’s it for now.
Her: Let me take a quick look at your file here. (glance) You know, if you want to have any kids, you better get started. You are getting kind of old.
OH MY GOD. YOU DID NOT.
First of all, does she know if I want kids? Nope. We have never talked about it. Second of all, what’s with the OLD? Third of all, OH MY GOD.
Aren’t doctors supposed to make you feel better?
The doctor search continues.