Today, where I live, it should NOT be a Snow Day. Those kiddos should have gone to school and I should have carried on my regular schedule of whatever important stuff it is that I do. Like, um, blogging.

But my phone rang at 5:38 am to say school was canceled. The roads are FINE. I know this is probably not the case where you are, but where I am, we’re all good. We’re just overreacting.  I know, because I called the gym to make sure they were open and classes were on, and then I took the boys.

Staying home makes me claustrophobic. SNOW makes me claustrophobic. Decreased street traffic (not there’s much anyway) makes me depressed. Not going to the gym or doing something else just was not an option.

However. No one else in this town felt the same way because the gym was deserted. The Zumba class is usually packed. Today, there was just me. And eventually, one other gal. Lemme tell you, that changes the vibe COMPLETELY. Whereas with a group, it’s a fun dance-y, high cardio workout. But. With just 3 it turns into a slightly illicit-feeling private lesson in dirty dancing.  Uh… fun, but not exactly what i was expecting. Left feeling a bit sassy.

The afternoon was spent with a fire going and without dancing.  And just now Mike asked me to call about some insurance thing and “it’ll take like ONE minute, MAYBE.” He’s standing in the bathroom packing for a trip, and as I dial he says, “uh…. I guessed at your height and weight.”

He winces, as if he knows there’s no good way to follow up on this statement, but he doesn”t want me to find out from whoever is about to answer the phone. And it’s already ringing.

He wasn’t all that far off. He made me 6 pounds heavier and two inches taller. Whatever. The guy on the other end of the phone answered by saying, “Hi, I am a doctor, and will be discussing your medical history on behalf of this insurance company.” He sounded twelve. I instantly doubted his credentials just because he sounded so young and because he has to read a script that says, “HI I AM A DOCTOR.” Yeah, right, buddy.  And why is this company making doctors call anyway? Is that a legal requirement? Because it seems a bit overkill to me.

He asked me everything there was to know about a repaired left acl/knee thingy and everything there was to know about my post partum depression  (totally legal and largely ineffective) drug use after Seth-5yr. Needless to say, that phone call was NOT a minute in length. It was much longer.

I spent the whole phone conversation thinking that he was probably a really awful doctor who had gotten fired from all the Actual Medical Jobs and this was the only job left. But that’s a bit mean, given this economy. But still,  I thought it, and they could use a new script.   It thoroughly distracted me from answering the Endless and Lame Questions, which is not really a bad thing.

I wanted to know why he sounded like he was twelve. I wanted to know exactly how old he was and if he was on probation for malpractice of a serious nature. Why was he working by asking me boring questions about stuff instead of doing something more medical? What’s your story, boy-child-fake-doctor? Is this a good use of the nation’s doctors, regardless of how underage they sound? I think not. I bet there’s a group of patients out there somewhere for him who won’t mind that his voice hasn’t dropped yet and he could be real helpful to them. Whoever. Wherever. Fulfill his doctor-hood without having to first say, “HI I AM A DOCTOR. NO REALLY. SHUT UP, I MEAN IT. SERIOUSLY. I REALLY AM.”

I felt bad for him.  NPH got to grow up and leave the Doogie thing in the past. This guy deserves the same.

As soon as I got off the phone, I went and told Mike my actual height and weight in case he ever needs that information again. On that note. I’ve been 5’4 since we met. Actually. Since well BEFORE we met. I can understand not knowing the weight because that’s been all over the place with the whole business I was in of creating and providing housing for Real Live Babies, but the height? That’s been a constant. Come on.*

*okay, i just realized that if I were to SAY that to Mike, he would point out that I never know how old he is. But that’s different. Because THAT number, unlike my height,  is always changing. And I don’t care about age, his or mine, and can never remember anyone’s age. Right. It’s entirely different.

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