Monday, June 3, 43 A.B.

A Word Of Explanation For Everybody Else

I accompanied my wife when she went to see her gynecologist today.

After she was called back to the examination room, I remained behind in the waiting room, reading my Newsweek.

As I sat there, in the waiting room, reading my Newsweek, another female patient entered the waiting room from the street and took a seat.

Right next to me.

Even though there were about 20 other empty seats she could have taken.

Even though my seat was the only occupied seat in the place.

Even though my arm was on the arm of the seat she chose to sit in!

Well, to say that I was unnerved would be an exaggeration.  It certainly DID make it difficult to continue reading the Newsweek cover story about how all teen girls are NOT mean, however.

After all, how could I continue to read anything at all when my mind was busy wondering "WHAT STRANGE, PARALLEL UNIVERSE HAVE I FALLEN INTO!?"

Contrary to what you may have heard a very drunk, very old man mutter as he tried to keep warm over a building grate last winter, I am not the most attractive man on earth.  I do not have an irresistible charisma.  And I do not ooze that special something which says to women "Here's a rich fool you better get to know fast!"

So, I sat there, and I sat there, and I tried to figure out why any woman would want to sit next to me in the waiting room of a gynecologist's office when they could be sitting in at least 20 other places in the immediate vicinity alone.

And then it hit me.

And then I knew.

There could be only ONE explanation:

This woman was a poor, misguided fan of this journal.

A single glance at me had told her that only I could be its author.

Too shy to confess her obsession, too polite to interrupt my reading despite her insane, aching need for my words, she had sat down next to me in hopes of hearing me inadvertently mumble something akin to what I used to post here.

That's when the sweat really started accumulating on my brow.

And it didn't help when the receptionist returned to her station and ignored the woman next to me because (as she said when the woman next to me called her attention to her rudeness) "Oh, I thought you were with him!"

Would she follow me home??

Would other women suddenly appear and fight to get the last remaining seat beside me???

Would they all be as pregnant as the first woman????

Would they ALL try to follow me home?????

Was there any chance at all of my getting through the afternoon without my catching a bad case of pregnancy from women refusing to follow safe waiting room practices????????

Fortunately, my wife came out and we got away before I exhausted my supply of question marks and passed out.

The profound sense of unease generated by my brush with a pregnant pursuer remains, however.

And so I'm posting again.

In hopes that appeasement will keep her - and others like her - at bay.

At least until I can get through this damn story in Newsweek about how not all teenage girls are mean, anyway.

Have you tried to get through that sucker?

My God, I might be posting again forever....


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(©Now by DJ Birtcher after stuffing
the recent past in an autoclave)