Gabriel's Groans: Why A Visit To The Doctors Ticked Me Right Off!

Why is it, these days we are constantly confronted with the divorce, separated or other boxes! Are our names and addresses not enough information to divulge, sometimes to complete strangers! I'm not taking serious stuff here, just everyday forms, like at the doctors, dentist or a gym membership. If you're divorced, separated or other, surely that's your business and up to you to decide who you want to tell. The simplest of forms we fill in on regular occasions, have these boxes. Why?

God help anyone who's married more than once! Does that mean you tick the divorce box twice or the other box once. My married friends tell me they tick the married box only to be asked how many times! Why do they need to know these things! No one seems to care if your single unless they want to ask you out. Generally anyone handing you a form to fill in, in the first place is not anyone you'd want to know that your single, so your screwed and have to tick another box anyway.

Not too long ago, as in, I still smart at the very mention of it. I had to visit the doctor. I won't bore you with the details, or rather I won't bore myself with the reminder. Thankfully despite all the gin and tonic that circulates my system on regular intervals, I happen to be a fit and healthy person. Well I passed the mortgage medical and we all know how stingy they are. Mind you I did use green tea for the urine sample. Anyway...

There I am sitting in the doctors waiting room. Obviously looking extremely bored (hello, I'd been there an hour already) when the lovely assistant, who up till then was filing her nails and tossing her locks, said.

''Hey you, yeah you. Hello.''

I didn't even look in her direction. Hey you, indeed; how rude. However there wasn't anyone else there so I had no choice but to approach her desk.

''Ah! did you mean me?'' I asked with genuine surprise.

''Fill this in and don't leave any blanks.'' She retorted holding out a piece of paper.

I smiled sweetly. OK, I did my best smirk impression, which according to my friends, is a sweet smile, however I am working on it. I plucked a pen from her desk and turned on my heel to fill in the blanks, so to speak.

First line: Divorced, Separated or Other. Stared at me in thick black ink. Tick the box that most suits you! Holy God. I felt myself breaking out into a cold sweat. Which one most suited me? I wasn't divorced, so I ruled that one out. Now, separated; I was technically separated from my parents and siblings (thank God) as I didn't live with them any more. I was definitely separated from my last lover. In fact I was separated from everything I'd owned, including my parrot. OK, not going there. The parrot was very rude anyway. I looked at the last word. Other; what the hell did that mean? Before I realized what I was doing I had my hand in the air. The assistant jerked her head, which I took to meaning, speak.

''Err...what does other mean?'' I asked, for some reason holding up the paper like a frighten school kid.

''Are you divorced?'' she questioned. I shook my head. ''Separated?'' she added.

''Not sure of the context.'' I stammered.

''Tick other,'' and she promptly went back to her nails.

I stared at the word on the page. Is that what I was. A black box ticked beside the word other. What did other stand for; other than not divorced or separated. Or other as in I wasn't on the popular list so I was on the other list. I balanced my pen over the box contemplating between separated or other. My problem was solved with perfect timing as the doctor emerged and called for the next patient with such gusto, I jumped sending the pen through the divorce box. I looked at it horrified. I'd just told the assistant I wasn't divorced. I never had a chance to defend myself. She plucked the paper from my hand and pointed after the doctor.

''I haven't finished filling that in,'' I squirmed.

''No worries,'' she smirked (the kinda smirk I want to do).

I'll spare you the details of the doctor. However my scenario carried on to the butcher, when on my way home I stopped in to buy some steaks as usual.

''Hey, what's your box. Together, separated or other?'' the jolly butcher asked.

I looked at him agasht, ''I've just ticked the divorce box, actually.'' I snapped and stomped out of the shop.

To my total dismay, I only realized the butcher was referring to mum's meat order later that evening when she asked where her meat was.

''What are you talking about?'' I'd asked.

My mum looked at me a bit funny and said. ''I popped in to the butchers to order my meat as usual and I ordered some for you too. I know how fussy you can be, so I specifically told him to ask you how you wanted it packed. Together, separate or other.''

I decided it was time to opt for 'other': In this case a rather large whiskey.

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© 2010 Gabriel Wilson All Rights Reserved