I took a sick day to get a Wellness Check. Nothing like titty smashing to start the weekend right.
I’ve been going to the same Military clinic for 18 years. The active duty change, but the building is frozen in time. I planned for the last minute availability for multiple screenings and labs, but these kids were weird about showing up 30 minutes early to check-in. It’s pretty standard with military health to hurry up and wait. Historically understaffed, there were half a dozen admin my kids age so confident in their naivety. I chuckled and knitted. They probably see me as a frail senior citizen, I thought.
Mammography was so new she was still rattling her rehearsed routine. Anatomy is tricky, but practiced hands can make a big difference in the experience. 😫
I was happy to help them close out early as the last client, but it left me another 30 minutes before checking in with Primary. I was looking at my watch, gauging the room for comfortable chairs with wait time when a little voice calls out “ma’am! You seem confused”.
This dwarf of a child meant well. Probably all of 20. I answered that I was making a decision, which, for this lifestyle isn’t a familiar look. It’s not shade; the only people who make decisions for these kids are still young enough to be my children. I felt irrational rage to have lived long enough to raise policy makers in this clinic and never once was credited for being responsible for my own decisions. It’s not them. It’s the system.
And I probably am a senior citizen to them. The youngest of the olds.
So why are these little boys hard eyeballing my braless sway and shorts? It’s a confusing day.