Fitzie

I went to see my steroid-lovin' frat boy doctor the other day.  Not because I'm a hypochondriac- I just wanted him to rule out neck cancer.  I love my doctor.  I don't think he's that great at his job but he amuses me.  He's pleasantly out of it and charming at the same time.  He dresses like an 80's college preppy- chinos, loafers with no socks, polo shirts, sometimes with the collars up.  He's ageless- probably still looks like he did in college. I wouldn't be surprised if he high-fived me after an exam.

He has very little interest in me as a person, but gets chatty when you ask him something about himself.  He has 2 boys- one was in my son's class from kindergarten through 12th grade. So, I've known Fitzie for a long time- about 20 years.  The other day in the examination room, he asked me my name.

Him: Your name is Pasquale?
Me: No, Pascale.
Him: Huh. All this time I thought it was Marie.
Me: No- it's a long story. I use that name for insurance purposes... my real name is Marie-Pascale.... (blah, blah, blah- I launch into the story of why I usually go by my middle name. He is only mildly interested.  He starts talking about his sons whose girlfriends both just broke up with them. )

Anyway, I hope I never get really sick.  He doesn't strike me as a serious doctor. I saw this hanging in his examination room- doesn't inspire confidence...