Sitting in my cube, the office seems quieter and more attentive than usual. Then I realize I've forgotten something important (see Part II).
Me, discretely into the phone. "Hi. Uh. It's me. Are there any...shops...on the way to the clinic?"
Her, with some background commotion: "What's that? Any whats?"
"Shops."
"You're going to have to speak up, I can barely hear."
Same volume, but hopefully more insistant: "Ssshhhops."
"Huh? What kind of shops?"
I can sense 'discrete' going out the window. Luckily the fog cleared on the other end of the line.
"Ohhh...you need help?"
"I thought it might ease things along, yes."
"Ok, do you want to go to the one on Jefferson? Or there is a small one on Osuna. The one on Wyoming is pretty nice. Should I just hop in and grab something?"
My wife really really rocks. Have I said that lately?
postscript: It turns out, the clinic does have a rather nice porn menu, catering to a wide variety of discerning tastes. Whoda thunk?
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