Doctor Curmudgeon® A Quiet Evening In The Curmudgeon Home
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By Diane Batshaw Eisman, MD FAAFP
It does boggle my mind at times.
I have no idea if others are asked questions like
“Well, Doc, what do you do when you get home at night?”
Really?
Why do you want to know?
How is my home life your business?
What do you think I do?
Stare at my navel?
Position myself on a chaise longue while somebody brings me tea and chocolate crumpets? (I have no idea what a crumpet is, but it sounds crunchy and not too sweet)
Count the gold bullion that I have stored under my floor?
Prepare three course dinners from scratch?
Deep clean the house from top to bottom? Pshaw on that one!
Or maybe I decide on what I will wear tomorrow…laying out a wardrobe for the next day? Really? I do smell the object I am removing and if it passes that sniff test and has no stains…it can be worn another day.
What does happen in the curmudgeon domicile after I have figured out which key unlocks my domain, and then crawled through the door?
Well, I have old T shirts and aging workout pants, which I slip into. We have weights and stuff on the first floor of our townhouse. Then, I do something,.. weight lifting or Pilates or elliptical. Just something before I can even think. Because if I hit the next floor, the curmudgeon within will not allow me to go back down. It will lead me to the refrigerator for cheese and the island counter for nuts and then the newspaper.
Somewhere in the evening, we play catch up with journals.
And if I deign to answer to somebody who earnestly inquired in innocence and wonder, I will answer the question.
But I neglect to elaborate any further because in the Curmudgeon home in the evening, after some form of exercise and medical education….
My desk yowls at me and as I approach, I see mounds of papers demanding my attention. They gently shuffle in the breeze of the air conditioner as I, very politely ignore them.
And then after ignoring them and sneering at them, I plod upstairs to the rest of the evening.
The next scene, quite often in Curmudgeon homeland
My husband carefully cleaning his gun at the kitchen table
While I sift through vegetables, reclaiming the ones not too old to roast
Doctor Curmudgeon® is Diane Batshaw Eisman, M.D., a physician-satirist. This column originally appeared on SERMO, the leading global social network for doctors – the virtual doctors’ lounge and the home of medical crowdsourcing
SERMO www.sermo.com “home of medical crowdsourcing”
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