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Posts tagged ‘Pat Marinelli’

The New Medical Forms

I had a doctor’s visit yesterday morning. Honestly, arthritically painful and moody, I didn’t want to go, but I went anyway. Like you have a choice, right? After signing in, producing insurance info that hadn’t changed and getting a printout of my blood work, the receptions handed me a clipboard to update newly required government information.

Sitting in the exam room, I donned my reading glasses to study the form while waiting for the doctor. My first chuckle came after I wrote my birth date…under that was age. What people can do math these days?

The next question was primary language spoken. The intellectual me wrote ENGLISH. I could hear my English teacher-raised Mom saying, “Speak better. Stop using ain’t. Ain’t ain’t in the dictionary.” The writer in me wanted to enter AMERICAN SLANG. So I stifled my laugh.

Next box was race. I wrote WHITE, but upper-crust Mom would have put CAUCASIAN. Good thing they didn’t ask me in July, I’d want to put BRICK-INDIAN RED, ‘cause I fry and never tan.

Ethnicity stopped me cold. Ever totally blank out on a word? Now I’m out-right laughing at myself as the doctor opened the door. “Problem?” he asked.

“Just laughing at your medical form,” I told him.

“Well, that’s not a comment we usually get here on our forms.” He walked in and closed the door.

I swallowed my stupidity and asked, “What is ethnicity? I know should know that, but I’m clueless.”

“Where your family came from,” he replied. “You know Italy or—“

“Got it. Can I put MUTT? My answer won’t fit in this box.”

“Just put American,” he said, as I wrote it in. “People do put mutt.”

I added MUTT.

Leaving the office in less pain and in a better frame of mind, I arrived home and related my silliness to Hubby. The perfect answer to ethnicity popped into my head. “Oh, Honey, I should have put DESCENDED FROM AN IRISH WITCH.”

Hubby gave me that oh-here-we-go-again look. You see, married to a writer, he’s more comfortable plotting a mystery or planning a murder, than discussing ghosts or witches. But then he only has to list Italian in that tiny box—not English, Irish, and German.

NOTE TO SELF: Ask younger sister, who is studying the family tree, was Great Aunt Sally an Irish Witch or an English one. Need to know that for your next medical form.

Okay, I have a question for you. Is this blog entry as funny for you to read as it was to me write? Hubby says…not so much.

The Cat and the Giant

Smoki Sitting on Tower

A few summers ago a feral cat brought a tiny black kitten into our yard. She didn’t even look old enough to leave the litter so we assumed something happened to the Mom and other kittens. I called her Smoki and I’d sit out each night after feeding both cats and play with Smoki, who loved the red dot of the laser light much to the dismay of the older cat.

After a couple of weeks of this, the older cat would get annoyed at Smoki’s attention to me and leave. Twice two toddler raccoons appeared after dusk. The first time Smoki ran off while we were playing, I spotted the toddlers and raced in the house. The second time it happened, Smoki, who was up on the porch with me and I didn’t see them due to huge new trash cans that had been dropped off. Smoki refused to finish her dinner and kept pacing in and out of my large herb pots garden. Suddenly she started to hiss, that’s when I saw the raccoon’s nose around the trash can. Knowing there were two raccoons, I made a dash for the back door. Once the second raccoon appeared Smoki vanished across the yard while the two toddlers fought for her leftovers. It was after this that I sent time luring the kitten into the house.

So why am I telling you this? This weekend my youngest son and his wife came over to help Hubby set up the garden for planting. Now you have to picture this. My baby is six feet tall and weighs at least 275. I was in the kitchen when he excused himself to use the facilities and disappeared down the hall. Next thing I know he comes back telling me my adorable cat is ferocious.

“What do you mean?” I asked innocently, knowing he much have gone into my bedroom to see Smoki.

“That ferocious cat was on the bed,” he said.

“And you tried to pet her?”

“Heck, no. I just looked in the door and she hissed at me.”

“Well, you invaded her territory. What did you expect?”

“Yeah, but she stood and hissed again, louder.”

“You didn’t go in the room, did you?” I asked.

“No way. She jumped off the bed, came toward me, and snarled even more.”

“And…”

“What do you mean add? I took off. That is one ferocious cat, you got there, Mom,” he said grinning.

Now, I ask you. Does cute, little Smoki look like a ferocious cat that can stand up to a giant invading her territory? You betcha!