Again, not giving a shit
While in the periodontist’s chair having surgery, the doctor, who could see my twenty-three-year-old rusty Toyota Corolla station wagon from the window, asked me what car I drove. As he cut into my gums, he proceeded to brag about the fancy something-or-another car that my surgery was helping to pay for.
I don’t care what he drives, nor do I give a shit about his or anybody else’s opinion of what I drive. In fact, I’m proud that I use things until they are absolutely, positively worn out.
And that periodontist? I guess he’s bragging to somebody else these days. Since my surgery, I found myself a kinder, gentler doctor.
