Luke accompanied me to my yearly physical on Monday. Bad idea. He was casual and cool as we entered the waiting room still sporting his Lightning McQueen sunglasses, and carrying a milkshake. He slowly surveyed the crowd before finally announcing, “Somefing smells phony in here!” I corrected him despite the fact that it was a pretty astute observation.
“Try not to breathe too deeply,” I told him.
After a twenty minute wait we were ushered back to the exam room to wait some more, but Luke decided he needed to go to the bathroom. When we’re at home this isn’t a huge deal, but in a public restroom it becomes a nightmare. He absolutely CAN’T go without taking off ALL of his clothes. Also, being in the ONLY bathroom designated for patients, there were knocks at the door every fifteen seconds from people needing to pee in a cup. With every knock Luke lost his concentration, which was apparently essential. I was desperate to speed things along which meant I had to stand with my back turned AND my eyes closed.
Finally, he was finished, but as I began getting him dressed he slipped away and went running through the office in only a T-shirt and boxer briefs as he laughed hysterically. I wrangled him, and we made it back to the exam room to find out that I had been skipped over for the next patient and would have to wait some more. So we sat in the cold exam room awhile longer while he pointed out every rectangle in the room. There were twelve.
The doctor eventually came in, felt me up with her cold hands, poked me with a needle, and told me how cute and charming my kid was, all of which took no longer than five minutes.
“Thank you,” I replied. “Now, can you refill my Xanax?”