Formerly titled: "Self-Righteousness will get you nowhere, yet still I indulge in the stuff every so often."
So, for the first time in, well, ever--I have full insurance benefits. I guess I had them when I was a kid and throughout college, but I never indulged in them because I was used to having them around. In 2001 I let them free like a butterfly, thinking that if they really loved me they'd return. They totally did. Five years later, which is now, we're back together and tighter than ever. So, I've been making sure to take full advantage of dental, gyno, dermo, general practice doctors, etc... Despite my perfect vision, I might even go to the optomerist. Why? Because I can. Yay me!
Anyway, yesterday I went for my second dental appointment of the year (because us fancy insurance-havin' folk get to go twice a year for just a measly $20 copay per visit).
What I forgot--amidst praising myself for being so responsible and civilized--is that I had changed dental plans and dentists after my last appointment. You see, I had this theory that my initial dentist was trying to take advantage of me with the added "full oral examination," the cost of which was never mentioned after my first appointment, but billed to me a few weeks later aside from the insurance bill. So, I canceled him but didn't make the changes in my records. That'll show him!
(I'm pretty sure I even bragged to a few friends about how people can't try to rip me off and not expect to be dealt with properly.) So there, Mr. Dentist!
Since I lack a working a memory and common sense, I went in yesterday, had my cleaning, listened to the assistant rave about my perfect teeth (I don't shy away from ass-kissers; I embrace them) as well as complain about the Christmas music:
"I am so damn tired of this music. First they play George Michael's song, then Mariah Carey's, next is Joy to the World..." True to form, she had about 80 tools in my mouth, yet wanted some kind of affirmative response from me.
Moral of this story is that I had to pay $114 out of pocket because--let's be real here--I'm not that bright.
The secretary said she would bill Aetna anyway to see if they'd reimburse me, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better.
In other news, I got my first bathrobe ever, at the age of 27, and I can't stop raving about it. I'm preaching about the stupid thing to strangers on the subway like it's this cutting edge new invention. "Have you ever slipped into a bathrobe after a shower? Dude, you should really get with the program."
I don't know if I'm cut out for being civilized. It's been a rocky ride so far.
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2 comments:
I've never understood the bathrobe. Do you dry off first? Or do you just put it on while you're wet? If you're dry, why not just put on clothes? What's the need for the intermediate garment?
Oh amish, you have opened a can of worms here.
Here's how it works:
You dry off as well as you can; try not to be wet whatsoever. Then you slip on the bathrobe and, if you have them, ugg boots or slippers of a similar material, and lounge around on the couch.
Why the intermediate garment?
Do you have pants made out of furry, soft, skin-carressing material? No. And that's where the robe comes in. It is sooo comfortable. Of course, it is not something you would wear if you're in a hurry. The bathrobe is all about leisure and relaxation. It's a Saturday or Sunday outfit.
Trust me, it's not something you can understand until you do it yourself. I admit it, I was also lost before I got mine.
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