"Apparently I Am An Idiot!!"

One of the intangibles about being married is that my dear wife keeps meticulous records, especially as it pertians to where I, her husband, needs to be and when I need to be there. Just yesterday I posted an entry about my scheduled stress test that I was convinced was scheduled for this morning at 8:15. Wrong. It's next Friday. Yes, apparently I am an idiot.

Before retiring last evening I set the alarm clock for 7 a.m. It dutifully went off and I laid in bed for another half hour, becoming more and more emotionally worked up and concerned that there would be a repeat performance of my last stress test: my legs would give out before the procedure was finished. I have yet to learn that if I lie in bed and think about things that concern me that I manage to blow them all out of proportion. Still, I do it anyway until I finally decide that by pulling the covers up over my head isn't going to convince my wife (or me) that I have disappeared and thus will be dismissed from dealing with whatever challenge I would otherwise chose to avoid.

So, out of bed I climbed, hunted around for something resembling workout clothes, and headed downtown to the hospital and Doctor Rosenthall's office. Cheerily checked in with the receptionist, took a seat in the waiting area, opened my latest selected book to consume, Marley And Me," and settled down to await the beckoning call to begin my scheduled stress test. Two minutes later I hear my name. Mr. Latchford?" I bounce up and report again to the receptionist. "Are you under the impression that your appointment for your stress test is today?" ("No," I'm thinking. "I always dress like I'm going to enter the Boston Marathon.") "Yes...at 8:15." Replied the smiling receptionist, with a touch of condensation in her voice as she observed before her yet another example of a clueless male, "Actually your test isn't scheduled until next Friday." "Oh..." It was the best reply I could come up with spare of the moment as I envisioned great globs of egg white sliding slowly down across my face. "So...I guess I'll see you next Friday." "Yes," she replied, her professional smile turning up at the corners into a perceptible smirk. "Well, alrighty then. See you next Friday." "Would you like us to give you a reminder call?" (She couldn't fool me. She was determined to rub my embarrassment in with that one additional departing shot). "No...I don't think that will be necessary. I'll just come back on Thursday evening and sleep on the couch." (Gotcha!!)

Still it's a reprieve. There's a little more bounce in my step. My dear wife just laughed in her knowing way when I told her of my "mix up." "I'll put in on my calendar," she said. Probably a good thing, I thought.