On Dressing Up

... no earrings allowed ...

I have always been saving my good clothes for when the time is right.  Now I am at the point of figuring out when is the time right, and I have decided maybe the time  is right every time I go out the door of my house. So I dressed up to go to the clinic to have my blood work done this morning.

I tried to make an appointment by phone.  The answering machine wouldn't let me wait in a queue.  "The queue is too long," the mechanized voice told me. "Use the website."

I tried to go out and make an appointment using the lab website.  Negotiating that space would take more than an undergraduate degree.  I quit and decided to be a clinic drop in, leaving the house before 7 a.m. this morning.  And yes, I dressed up.

The exercise  at the lab is, take a number from the dispensing machine and then wait for space between scheduled appointments.

I read my new book, Aging Well.  At 8:30 am my number got called.

A large man, an Afro-American, a big booming voice called out,  "#25."

I walked from my chair to the desk.   

Still in that booming voice that should have belonged to a football announcer he playfully called out, his voice lilting as though he were reading poetry, "Just because you got the looks, don't mean I'm going to take you first."

Slow blush, a hot one that I cannot control moves up from my toes to my head.

Sheesh! 

Shouldn't have combed my hair this morning. 

Too embarrassing.

Arta