Studly Doright and I walked into a nearly full doctor’s office waiting room yesterday. After he signed in for his procedure (nothing major, so no worries) we found seats in separate corners and made funny faces at one another for a time.
People came and went, and soon I moved into a chair next to Studly. We were right beside the registration desk and couldn’t help but overhear conversations. Most were pretty innocuous, but one made Studly look at me cross-eyed, and I couldn’t stop laughing.
An older gentleman walked in and gave his name. The twenty-something receptionist looked through her schedule and told him she didn’t have him on her list.
“Who’s your doctor,” she asked.
He looked through his paperwork and gave her a name.
“Oh, you’re in the wrong office. His office is three doors down in suit 224. This is suit 227.”
“Suit?” I mouthed. Studly made his eyes cross, and I got tickled.
“Does that mean I’d wear a suite to a wedding?” Studly whispered.
“Sweet! A sweet suite,” I nodded.
We’re just awful.
Totally relevant picture of a good looking man in a suit, or is it a suite? Regardless, it’s sweet.