So, today, I disgraced the “lesbian” moniker when I was forced to give, what I refer to as “The Debutante Handshake”. You know the one…the four finger pinch and release. This is not something that I’m proud of, but it was something that had to be done. Settle in, my friends…share in my humiliation…….
I went to the ophthalmologist today for a six month check-up…yet another of the joys of growing old. Now, I’m not a big fan of being poked, prodded or being examined or tended to, so the appointment is already a test of my patience before anything even happens.
Since almost everything is immaterial, I’m gonna cut to the end of the appointment. After 20 minutes of read this, hold that, close this eye, better with 1 or 2, I’ sitting idle in the chair while I watch this educated idiot hunt and peck on a keyboard to enter all of his findings. My irritation is furthered by his obvious ineptitude with the various and sundry computer programs that he can’t seem to navigate through smoothly. The whole time this test of my patience is going on in this silent, silent room, he’s sniffling. He stops his single finger assault of the keys, squints at the screen, looks back down at the keyboard, sniffs loudly and takes a swipe at his nose with the back of his hand. It was all I could do not to audibly shriek when I looked at his hand to find his hand glistening in the glare of the overhead fluorescents. And then I was forced to chew on my own lips when I realized it was his right hand and I was 100% certain that he was going to shake my hand at the end of the appointment. And then I began to pray that something…anything was going to occur that would keep me from having to clutch that wet hand. “Please god, let him grab a tissue; please god, let him use hand sanitizer; please god, let him drag out his note taking until his hand dried.”
God hates me.
End of the appointment rolls around seconds later and he walks me to the lobby where he wraps up our time together with an outstretched hand.
I thought about faking a seizure; wetting my pants, collapsing on the floor in a heap, but in the end, I went with the debutante handshake.
I wish that were the end of things.
Cut to me driving and attempting to break the land speed record getting home, all the while trying to fish a first aid kit out from under my seat at every stop light. I know that in the kit there’s a number of alcohol pads and if I can just get to them, I can get rid of the image in my head that shows me some sort of typhoid virus crawling up my sleeve to make its home in my fragile biology. No luck.
By the time I come roaring into my driveway, I’m sure I have the plague and I have to pee to boot. I make a beeline for the bathroom where there is hand sanitizer and a toilet.
So, here’s a bit of useful information for you: there are certain things that should not be rushed. One of those things is taking the time to wait for hand sanitizer to completely dry before reaching for – AND USING – the toilet paper. Suffice to say, hand sanitizer on the more tender parts of one’s anatomy is nothing short of (at the VERY least) startling.
I run from the bathroom, whip open the dogs crate to release her and race upstairs to hop into my second shower of the day. I sit here now, squeaky clean, but fairly certain that I am now patient zero.
Tell my mother I love her………