I did forget to go to the school circus today, which disappoints me for obvious reasons. However, this morning, my urologist admired my necklace and laughed at my jokes, so I consider it pretty much a wash. He is a very nice man, my urologist. Plus, remember that pee story I never told you? Of course you don't. It's hard to keep track of stories that people are too lazy to actually recount. Sorry about that. I may yet tell you that story, since it's so entertaining. For now, let's just say that there was peeing and subsequent analysis and my numbers are (ready?) excellent. Excellent. Suck it, would-be kidney stones of the future.
While sitting in the exam room waiting for the doctor, I was reading my library book (and feeling quite pleased with myself for having remembered to bring it). It happens to be Drinking with Men, a title that has evoked comment at not one but two doctor's appointments this week.
"What are you reading?" he asks, entering the exam room. "Drinking with Men. A thing I feel I should be doing a great deal more of." Cue: general mirth. We discuss the test results; restraint vis à vis drinking black tea is (disappointingly) counseled. In summation, he says, "So keep drinking water, eating a low-salt diet, and drinking with men and you should be all set." I defy you to tell me a time your doctor told you you may not drink tea, but are free to frequent bars like a floozy. I plan to take him up on it. Conversely, my gynecologist did not give me the green light on drinking with men, but neither did she expressly forbid it. It is worth noting that the urologist has a significantly more robust sense of humor than the gynecologist. I don't know whether there are subsequently any conclusions to be drawn about their areas of medical expertise. I expect not. After all, two people is an awfully small sample size for even the most casual research project.
Later, I called ACT to tell them that I was going to let my subscription lapse because I just can't get excited about more than two of next season's seven plays. I am truly very sorry to let my beloved seats go after at least a decade of subscribing (that's at least 70 plays, not counting the many I saw before I was a subscriber, including A Christmas Carol when I was a little girl), but I don't have enough money to pay for plays I don't want to see.
Now then. When I share this news with subscription services, do I expect them to beg with me to stay? Do I insist that they keen and rend their garments? Of course not. But I did expect him to say, "Oh, you're such a long-time subscriber. We're sorry to see you go." Maybe that was an unreasonable expectation. I don't think so, particularly since my relationship with that theatre is probably considerably longer than his, but maybe. I definitely didn't expect him to sound, from the moment he answered the phone, as though I was greatly inconveniencing him by calling at all. I didn't expect him to be brusque and dismissive and exasperated. I hung up not just annoyed, but offended and actually kind of hurt. I ended up calling some poor woman in the Marketing/PR department to hear my grievance during which conversation I began sniveling. In short, a mean subscription man made me cry. Good lord. It's a wonder I make it though the day. I am ridiculous. However, the marketing lady was very sympathetic and said all the right things and I felt better. Humiliated by my own crybaby ways, of course, but better on the whole. Thanks, marketing lady! As for seats N 113-114, we've had a good run. I'll miss you guys.