Where I come from, if you are dressed up in your Sunday best, and it's a weekday, there's only one place you could be going... to the doctor's office! You would think that on such an occasion, you would be feeling so much like a cat's used fur ball, the furthest from your mind would be haute couture.
Well, you would be wrong. No matter if you think are at death's door, you will make the effort to wear the new underwear that has been kept in the drawer for emergencies, you will wear the new outfit and try to cover the ghastly pallor of your face with layers of make up and many stalwarts will have their hair styled too.
All of which makes me ask myself, "Self? What's that about?"
Remember when our mothers would insist on making sure we had on clean skivvies if we left the house... in case you have an accident? Strange, because if we did have an accident, the skivvies would be the first to be 'hors de combat'.
Even here, in sunny Florida, it's possible to keep up with local fashion by hanging out at the medical offices. The most dreaded phrase one can hear is 'please do not wear make up when you arrive for this procedure'. Are they crazy? Sick or not, there is no need to scare Joe Public by arriving 'au naturel', so to speak.
And it's not just we grownups either. I have seen some kids who could give Honey Boo Boo a run for her fashion money if they have to visit the doctor's office for a check up... or... (shhhh!) shots!
None of this withstanding, I dressed very carefully for a recent appointment even though I felt like death. I was waiting patiently in the doctor's office, displaying my designer sandals as one does, and having some time to spare I decided to spruce myself up a little more!
Using a miniature cosmetic mirror about 1/4 inch across, I held it up to my fevered brow so that I could check that at least my eyebrows were conducting themselves accordingly...when horror of horrors, I noticed a stray whisker that had appeared where no whisker had any right to grow. As sick as I was, there was no way I would let any doctor peer at my face with that 'sprout' waving around attracting attention.
Did I have tweezers? Of course not! I tried the self-plucking method using my fingernails, to no avail. I was mortified. What could I do? All those out there who have found themselves in a similar predicament will know the answer. I dragged myself out of the chair, crawled up to the receptionist with one hand positioned over the offending whisker, and re-scheduled.
After all, I may be sick, but by golly, I'm going to be well groomed while I'm fading away.