Today I went to the doctor to get a throat culture (Yes, people, the Belknap’s have strep), and I was a magazine whore in the waiting room. I’m guessing this is what happens when you confine a woman in a room without her children (and her laptop), forcing her to sit quietly by herself for nearly 20 minutes.
First I raided the wall rack, snagging a Good Housekeeping, a Country Cottage, and a Redbook with Kelly Ripa on the cover. I binged, flipping through pages furiously, trying to get as much mindless magazine-ing in as possible. The other lady in the waiting room looked up from her Newsweek with raised eyebrows and then back down as if embarrassed for me. I read magazines I never would pay for—People’s issue naming the sexiest men alive, and then the one about that guy they think killed two of his four wives.
When the nurse called me in I scowled at her. I would have waited for an hour. or two. I’m probably the only person who views a trip to the doctor for a throat culture akin to a relaxing spa getaway. Unfortunately, my appointment was short-lived. The nurse said my uvula and tonsils were extremely swollen and inflamed. (Uvula. So that’s what that’s called… I had been calling it a goiter, or to mix it up – the do-hickie at the back of my throat). Within 15 minutes I was diagnosed, prescribed, and sent on my merry way. Viola.
Two doses of amoxicillin for ten days and I won’t be reading another magazine until my next checkup. Unfortunately, that’s an agonizing 6 months from now.