Speaking of doctors...
My back is sort of an unknown territory to me, like Newfoundland but without the dogs. I've never really been there, so I don't think about it much. My wife however frets over it and keeps me updated on various happenings. The geology of this region apparently very exciting. Formations change, new features erupt. I listen to her descriptions the way I listen to her updates on office politics - just enough to make polite chit-chat.
Finally, she prevailed on me to go the doctor and have it looked at. When she sends me on errands, knowing that I am absent-minded and writing blog entries in my head, she sends along written instructions. But, since I can't see my back, sterner measures had to be taken.
At the doctor's, as instructed, I de-shirted. I am always embarrassed about this since I have the body of a sourdough roll (lumpy and flour colored) and my doctor is a striking woman. (I didn't pick her because she was cute, I didn't even know she was a woman. I mostly picked her because she has a funny name. I vote that way too.)
The doctor looked at me and asked, "Why are numbers and arrows written in magic marker all over your back?"
"Because the Post-It notes kept falling off."
Then, handing her a stack of note cards, I added "I almost forgot, here's the legend."
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