I had a cardiologist check-up last week. I checked in at the receptionist desk and found a place in the waiting room. After setting down my purse, I casually turned around and sat down in my selected chair. And then I saw…
Insert here the sound of dropping registration clipboards, papers flying everywhere, crazy rustling in my purse to find my camera phone, and then…the unmistakable click of a camera phone taking a picture.
And while you’re at it, go ahead and insert the maniacal laughing of a middle-aged woman who might as well have been a pre-teen instead of a mature adult. Scott kept looking at me and getting tickled himself, laughing because I couldn’t control myself. Then he would give me the unspoken evil eye of ‘You’re staring!’ until finally I said my first words out loud, “I can’t help it. I can’t look away.”
Luckily the nice nurse called my name from the door and Scott and I got up to follow her obediently back to the awaiting exam room. I finally had time to say something louder than the animated exchange of looks we had been tossing back and forth in the waiting room.
Walking down the hallway I turned to Scott and said, “WHAT would possess someone to look in the mirror and say, ‘You know, I think I’ll just wear this today’?! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”
Now I’m sorry, I know I’m not being nice.
But if you wear a wife beater in public (for NO apparent reason whatsoever), then you have invited my free and open judgment.
There’s a rule about that somewhere, I’m sure of it.
In the short time period we spent in the waiting room together, the following items were closely observed:
1. This man was not destitute. This wasn’t a case of these being the only clothes he owned.
2. His hair was heavily dyed
3. …and HEAVILY hair-sprayed.
4. If he cared that much about his perfectly coiffed hair, then he purposefully chose this outfit. No doubt in my mind about that.
5. My mind said, “Okay, so there’s a definite soft belly but maybe he’s been working out his arms and felt it was time to show them off.” Nope. No working out…no definition except a definite lack of sunlight and lifting of anything over 1 or 2 pounds.
6. His inside-out sweats (a fashion statement, perhaps?) had a pocket FULL of keys, wallet, probably some breath mints – nicely weighing down the right side of his pants.
7. By the way, did I mention I was in a CARDIOLOGIST’s office?…
I spent a long time concentrating on that guy. Great work-out for my neck, shaking it back and forth and all.
Eventually throughout the day Scott stopped asking me when I would start randomly laughing out of nowhere. He would just say, “Thinking about the wife beater again?”
All I was ever able to verbalize was the same question, over and over again: “What about the image he saw in the mirror that morning made him think that it was alright to step out of the house???”
Oh for the joys of analyzing other people.
Good thing I am so dang perfect…