This evening I had my annual gynecologist appointment. This usually means dealing with surly office staff (what is it with the clerical workers in medical offices? do they feel that in an era of absurdly mismanaged "managed care", callous insurance companies, skyrocketing medical malpractice costs, innumerable medical mistakes - including leaving 2 foot pieces of wire in patients' bodies!! - that their cynical, abrasive attitudes won't matter to the browbeaten public?), waiting while some woman decides to have triplets during my appointment, and waiting some more because the appointments are jammed too tightly into the schedule. Tonight, however, the doctor was on time, no one when into labor and the office workers were (mostly) helpful. It all made me rather nervous.

Do you know the part I hate the most about this annual ritual? Probably not the part you're thinking of. No, not *that* either. It's having to take off my stockings and step onto the cold, slightly discolored linoleum floor in the examining room. That just makes me feel all skeevy - as if I can't pick up feet fast enough and clmaber onto the table. Who knows what's been on that floor! Yuck. Makes my skin crawl even as I write this. Next year I'll have to remember to bring socks. Even the stirrups have little covers these days, advertising some hormone replacement therapy that will undoubtedly cause dire side effects. Perhaps some intrepid drug company has the balls to put advertising for Viagra or Levitate-it or whatever it's called on the fluffy covers. Then again, probably not the best thing to put in the face of a woman who is nine months pregnant.

Books: The Havana Room. Off to a good start. I plan to put down the laptop early tonight, not think about all the work things that are still undone, and wrap myself up in this story for the next while. Before the alarms in my head go off and tell me I just need to leave one more voicemail before tomorrow.