The Lovely Chocolate Mob Read Online Free PDF Page B

she seemed glad I was laughing. “It’s good to be appreciated!” I said. “Don’t all your patients pay their bills?”
    “That falls into the not-yet-doctor/patient confidentiality arena. I’m afraid I can’t comment on that.” She smiled. “Let’s just say it’s good to see someone who tries to be responsible.”
    That was even better to hear. “Thank you Miss Planter.” She said nothing, just looked at her clipboard and smiled.
    “How do you see yourself, Mr. Owen? How would you categorize you?”
    “How do I see myself? Besides being routine and boring?” Miss Planter looked up.
    “Just kidding,” I said. “I see myself as a person who isn’t the same man he was just five short years ago. I used to have energy and darker hair, and more of it! But now I’m changing. I used to be able to eat rocks for breakfast, now I’m finding that I’ve got to be careful what I eat so it doesn’t upset my stomach for the rest of the day. I used to be made of rubber as a young man, plastic as a middle-aged man, and now I feel as though I’m turning into wood. I’m weaker, slower, and not as chipper as I used to be. If my life keeps going like this…”
    Miss Planter was peering directly into my eyes. I paused, then continued, “… I don’t think I’m going to like the experience very much,” I said. “Plus, I don’t think I am much to write home about.”
    Miss Planter looked at her notes, thought for a moment, then said, “The aging process is quite normal; what you’re going through can be a sort of a minor middle-aged crisis. You’ve started looking at the future with dread; you may not have accomplished all you have wanted to do, you see your energy levels getting lower, and you realize that you’re probably more than half way through with life. That’s not a very appealing outlook, but it’s quite normal for men your age.”
    Men my age? Men my age? Did she see me as some kind of grandpa here, a fossil, a relic? I still have most of my teeth and can jog a mile every other day, although I haven’t done it for a few years now. Who do you think you are, you middle-aged mama? Shirley Temple?
    “Oh. That’s good to hear,” I said. “So I’m normal, am I?”
    “’Normal’ is a word we don’t use much in this business,” Miss Planter said, matter-of-factly. “We prefer the term ‘healthy’. It’s more positive, and when a person hears he’s ‘healthy’ as opposed to just ‘normal,’ it gives him hope.”
    “Healthy,” I said out loud. “I could use a little hope; I’ll settle for healthy, then.”
    Miss Planter wrote some more on her clipboard. She didn’t look at me when she asked the next question: “Are you married, Mr. Owen?”
    I felt my back get tense, then I tried to sound casual when I said “No.” I braced myself for what the next question would be, one that’s been asked at other times by other people.
    “Have you ever been married, Mr. Owen?” I paused, waiting for the appropriate moment to respond. “No, I’ve never been married.” Miss Planter lowered her clipboard and looked at me. It wasn’t a look of disgust, but more of surprise. I took that as a good sign.
    Miss Planter turned her gaze back to her clipboard, and flipped it a few pages. “She’s heading over to different territory,” I thought. “She’s looking for reinforcements. The next few questions are going to be invasive.”
    “Have you ever considered matrimony?” she asked.
    I almost laughed. Have I ever considered it? Only every day for the past 35 years!
    “Yes, I’ve given it some thought,” I replied.
    “Well, what were your thoughts on the subject?”
    “My thoughts were that marriage wasn’t an option at the time,” I said, hoping she’d wrap this subject up in a hurry.
    “Was there ever a time you felt it might be right for you to marry?”
    She’s gone from thinking to feeling. That’s what women do; I wondered if she realized it.
    “Yes, I felt it might have been