Vanity Note:
The Least/Most I Could Do
14 August 2018
¶ At about one-ten, I took the subway to 72nd Street — the next stop — and got to the doctor’s office in plenty of time, for the annual physical checkup.
The doctor asked me how I was doing. I told him that I felt about ten years older than I did at the last checkup. What I didn’t tell him was that, in the middle of not getting much done yesterday afternoon, I had idly checked my log and discovered that it had been three weeks, not two, since my last visit to the barber shop. Creaking at death’s door though I might be, I was not going to show up for a physical looking like a woolly mammoth. I threw on my clothes and jumped in a taxi.
I had my reward after I left the doctor’s office. The weather kindly waited until I was safely inside again before loosing a colossal thunderstorm, bone-rattlingly close and with buckets of rain.