Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Ol’ Robbo went in for his annual (actually, it’s been a bit over two years) physical yesterday afternoon.

Seems I’m still in reasonable shape.  Within five pounds of my college weight, no major organ problems, bones fine, etc., etc.  On the other hand, I do have a few small issues.  My blood-pressure and cholesterol are a bit elevated and I seem to have a few vitamin deficiencies.  Not exactly E. Henry Thripshaw’s Disease-level worries, but Stuff Relatively Sedate Men In Early Middle Age have to deal with.  I’m supposed to go back next week to “consult” about these things.

Meh.

However, the high point of the visit was when my Doc surprised me by earnestly suggesting I really ought to cut back on my wine and coffee drinking (neither of which, IMHO, is particularly excessive).  She’s my age, and evidently several of her friends of our vintage have up and died recently from various causes.  I think this has rather spooked her.

I held my tongue at the time, and waited until I was back in the parking lot before I let out a Wayne Campbellish, “Shyeah, right!”

I mean, really!

I didn’t think much more of it until I got the fancy-shmancy electronic copy of her examination report today and saw that she’d actually put this stuff down in writing.  Now that it’s on my Permanent Record, I’m toast.  I can just imagine, when mandatory single-payer and its inevitable health-care rationing become Things, being face-to-face with a Dinsdale Piranha-like administrator.  As he looks through my file, he’ll say, “Oi, you’ve been a naughty boy, Clement!”  And when I tell him my name’s not Clement, he’ll split me nostrils open, saw off me leg and pull me liver out.  Then he’ll lose his temper and nail my head to the floor.

At first, yeah.

Oh, the other high point was that when Doc came in, I noticed she was carrying a syringe with her.

“Now,” she said, “You requested a flu shot, right?”

“No,” I said, somewhat bewildered, “I never requested a flu shot.”

“Oh,” she said, “Well, it says here that you did.”

Then I recalled that Mrs. Robbo had casually mentioned getting a call from the Doc’s office confirming my appointment a couple days ago, and that Mrs. R had done the confirming for me.

“Newman!” I blurted out.

I should say that Mrs. R and I have what amounts to a tradition of squabbling about flu shots each Fall.  I don’t want one: I hate needles, believe that the inoculation is at best a hit-or-miss affair anyway, and would rather run the risk of having to tough it out should I become infected.  She thinks otherwise.

So when I got home and she asked me how the visit went, I simply smiled coldly and said, “Nice try.”

UPDATE:  And per the title of this post, obligatory:

 

 

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