Appointments

Gwen Stefani is smiling at me from the cover of Glamour magazine on
the orthodontist's waiting room table. I used to measure the pasage of
time through the dates of magazines, as in "Oh no it's the October
issue, I've missed the December deadline". Terrifying stuff.

Today, the receptionist is amazed to see us walk through the door. She
might even want to celebrate as we are infamous for missing
appointments. "I just don't care anymore" Minky proclaimed this
morning, "I just want the damn things off."

My father-in-law hates being late for appointments. I picked him up at
9am for a 10.30 with the oncologist in Beverly Hills. He has a walker
now, which he detests, but it makes him quicker. "Why does everyone
tell me I'm doing so goddamn well when I'm walking about like an old
man?" he asks me. He certainly doesn't think like an old man. While we sit in
the room waiting for the doctor to show up, a pretty blonde nurse
in high heels saunters by. "Hell-O" says my father-in-law, raising his eyebrows.