It was like getting a report card again.
As I was leaving the doctor’s office after my annual physical, the nurse handed me a printout with the results. In eleven categories, they list me as “chronic.”
Now I know how the pinball machine feels when I slap the flippers too hard and the machine dings up “TILT.” Except I got no flashing lights, bells, nor whistles.
They could have let me down easy with a simple positive phrase. I would be satisfied with: “plays well with others.”
I will admit to being a chronic pain in the ass. That should cover it.
Chronic. Put another quarter in the machine.