Friday, May 22, 2009

It's Called A Dance Floor, And Here's What It's For

Today I went to see my new internist about the migraines. It was a little off-putting when the receptionist asked me to sit in the smallish waiting room with a woman who was vomiting violently into a trash can.

"Have a seat!" the receptionist smiled, gesturing toward the woman bent over the plastic can.

Really? I felt like saying. And you couldn't get her a room?

But I did take a seat, and I started texting Jessie about the vomit.

"YUCK!" Jessie wrote.


But then, the new doctor was lovely, thorough, and a little quirky. She didn't have too many answers about the migraines ("We need an office visit with the neurologist," she said), but she did have a groovy homemade necklace ("I like jewelry made from keychains.")

I liked that. It was good enough for me.

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