Thursday, January 8, 2009

Dear Dr. Mark

Why won't you accept my insurance? Why, after all these years of me I mean us being away from you, have you not entered into an acceptable agreement with our insurance? It's a household name, the insurance we carry. Why, Dr. Mark? Why?

I remember how I called your office when Pookie and T were just toddlers. Late on a Friday afternoon. Our beloved pediatrician had recommended you so highly. At 5:30 on a Friday night when you personally returned my call, I immediately understood why she did recommend you.

And when I first laid eyes upon you, Dr. Mark, I again knew. It was love at first bite I mean complete respect at first x-rays. Oh, you, Dr. Mark with the strong masculine good looks, that killer smile, those dark eyes and charming voice. You were the dentist for me I mean my children.

Your office, Dr. Mark. It's been 4 years, yet my 7 year-olds still remember the ocean-themed art work handpainted upon your office walls. They remember the LEGO trains in the waiting room. Fortunately, they don't remember the birds; and since Pookie was so deathly afraid of birds back then, it's best we keep those little guys our memorable secret. Shall we? Have secrets? No, no. Of course not, Dr. Mark. I'm a happily married woman.

Ah, Dr. Mark. When I telephoned your office yesterday to begin our relationship anew, I mean to see if you had changed your mind about rejecting my advances I mean insurance, I cried tears upon hanging up. You, Dr. Mark, were the best dentist. You would have sealed my Pookie's teeth. Even at 5:30 on a Friday night if I arrived at 5:37, I am convinced you would have done it.

But alas, my dearest pediatric dentist of yesteryear, you remain cold towards those who I bi-monthly pay to cover the costs of my children's tooth decay - and renewal. You, Dearest Dr. Mark, are not available to me I mean us even all these years later. Our parting was such sweet sorrow. And I shall not spit from your cup - nor shall my children. Again, for now.

Much love I mean respect,
Lovesick I mean Bitter in St. Louis

And the search continues...
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