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Thursday, March 17, 2005
the textbook definition of "uncomfortable"
Today I had to go to what my dad has always euphemistically called "the ladydoctor" (all one word like that). I had to have a sonogram. I want to note here and now that this is far less fun when you're not pregnant. Especially it is less fun when you sit there (with the required full bladder, of course) for TWO HOURS in the dressing room with the little gown on, reading Les Misérables (thank you, Mr. Hugo, for that scintillating history lesson about Louis-Philippe, can we get on with Jean Valjean now), wondering if they've forgotten about you. And it is even less fun when the technician comes in to call out the third or fourth person who has arrived after you and then been seen, and tells you that by the way, the reason you're waiting is that you arrived half an hour late and they have to wait till they can "squeeze you in." Especially when you arrived on time -- early even -- and the front-desk people had your appointment time correct in their book but the technician lady didn't.
And yet I didn't kill anybody. Not even one person. I didn't even swear, not even in my head. Aren't you proud?
(Just don't ask if I, uh, cried. Because of the frustration. When I was alone.)
Then after I finally finished that unpleasant business, I went shopping. Alone. I went to Subway alone and then sat on the grass at the park alone and ate my sandwich alone while reading alone and I went to Costco and Save Mart and Smart and Final alone. It was like a vacation and a prison sentence at the same time. Like being Martha Stewart maybe, only I bet Martha Stewart never had the fun of figuring out the best way to spend exactly $55 at Costco.
