I have an appointment with my doctor for my usual six-month mirror fogging on Friday. He was a very young doc when I stated going to him more than 30 years ago. Now it turns out he’s my age.
A woman in the office called today, as someone in the doctor’s office always does anymore, to confirm the appointment.
“Don’t forget your new insurance cards and be sure to bring your photo ID,” she said.
Photo ID? Jeezum, you’d think that, after staring at my navel for more than 30 years, the doc would recognize me by now. Or at least my navel.