Bossy would like to ask you a question, which begins approximately two calendar pages ago when Bossy felt something unusual:
The something unusual Bossy felt was a pain in her ass. Or maybe it wasn’t her ass, maybe it was a pain above her ass, in her coccyx region:
For the past two months, or maybe more, or maybe less, or maybe moremorelessymore, Bossy has been experiencing a jolt of pain in her tailbone region whenever she sits. But Bossy didn’t sustain an injury here, and she can’t imagine what originated this problem.
Finally, between all of the napping and the napping, Bossy made an appointment with a physician, and then sat back to wait the many weeks, where sat back equals not sitting because ow.
Soon the day arrived for her doctor’s appointment, and so Bossy parked her car and entered the medical building where her physician’s office resides, only to become swallowed by a maze of corridors as it slowly became apparent the building was the shape of an X wrapped in an S inside a T.
Bossy became so lost she finally reached for her cell phone and called the doctor’s receptionist who said, “Don’t bother, you are now fifteen minutes late, and we have a mandatory rescheduling policy if you are fifteen minutes late.”
And so Bossy rescheduled her appointment — and this time she left her house approximately one lifetime early in order to locate the office, where Bossy was soon escorted to an exam table.
Sure there were the usual posters detailing the dangers of smoking and diabetes, but the poster that grabbed Bossy’s attention was this one:
Because, sister mercy no they didn’t, it’s a poster of a hand reaching to touch a penis. Right?
Consumed with curiosity, Bossy jumped from the exam table and padded across the room in her socks to get a closer look.
Which brings Bossy, finally, to her question: Know a good optometrist?