On Mondays, Dentists and Cleavage Before Lunch
Generally I don’t mind Mondays. On Mondays I am rested, hopeful. By Wednesday, hope has died and I am left to drag its corpse behind me until Friday when, exhausted, I drop it and fall into the bottomless sleep of the failed, mourning another week passed during which I achieved neither “Powerball winner” nor “New York Times Bestseller” status. As I’ve said, I’m usually good with Mondays. This Monday was different though; I had a dentist appointment. Going to the dentist is among my dislikes, along with being wet, wet food (think soup) and men who wear shoes without socks. As I was about to walk out the door, I remembered the receptionist had asked me to bring my plan ID card with me. Now my plan administrator, claiming to be green, but really just cheap, doesn’t provide ID cards but you can print one online. I climbed to my office on the third floor and booted up my computer. I had to register online to actually print an ID card. The registration site aske...