Gemotions

The receptionist, a woman with a perpetually pursed mouth, had the audacity to call him “Mrs. Gable.” This, after he’d been informed, with utmost seriousness, that his file had been mixed with a woman’s from the next town over. The woman in question? An eighty-year-old with a fondness for cats and bingo.

A small smile played on Mark’s lips. The situation was almost too much, especially when the receptionist insisted on rescheduling his appointment for a mammogram. He politely declined, but the image of it stayed with him.

He cleared his throat. “I believe there has been a mistake,” he said, his voice laced with a subtle tremor. He couldn’t quite stifle the small sound that escaped his lips. The entire scene was so richly comical.