I had to go to my HMO today.
Big surprise – parking is a nightmare.
Actually, even worse than ever because they are doing some kind of construction with half of the parking lot.
But, they have people there to direct you to parking places.
That was nice.
And then the guy directing people to parking asked me, “Sir, are you here for an appointment?”
Now, usually, I don’t mind being called sir. I have short hair. I seldom wear makeup. My eyeglasses are decidedly butch. And I was bundled up in my double-layer windbreaker which is black and gray and not stylish at all (it is however, dry and warm). And I can (and did) onstage, pass for a fat old man.
My cognitive dissonance today was due to the reason I was at the HMO.
To get a mammogram.
Yup, to get my (really) big fat old lady titties squished.
(No, I am not the one in the yellow dress.)