February 5, 2009
I don't mind waiting when I go for a haircut; I'm grateful, in fact, for the opportunity to peruse magazines in search of a new style. And when I go to get the oil changed, they can take their time getting to the Volvo; I'm patient enough with bad coffee and worse daytime television.
But when I'm going in to get my, we'll say "coupons" clipped (this is a family paper), I need that to happen at the appointed time, at the moment I show up and the paperwork is complete. I don't want to have to wait because, the fact is, it's taken me 38 years to work up the nerve to get to that moment. In fact, everything I've done up until that appointment, from puberty until I walked in the door of the Conrad Pearson Clinic, has gone to keeping a scalpel, or scissors, away from my coupons, which have been tucked up safely in my Sports ... (read more)
