Mr. Rellim and I walked into the waiting room for the follow-up with his orthopedic surgeon. It has been about two months since his shoulder surgery. On the way in, I noticed a teenage boy who had the tell-tale signs of a fresh ACL repair. Mike walked to the receptionist to check in while I stopped briefly to chat with the young man and his father and encourage him to keep his chin up.
After speaking with them, I turned around to look for Mike, who (I thought) was already sitting in the back corner messing with his iPhone. As I slinked into the chair next to him, I leaned on the shared armrest, clearly into the man's space, to check out what he was doing on his phone. It was at that time that I noticed two bandaged fingers on his left hand. I gasped and said, "What did you do to your fingers?!" (I mean, how could Mike have hurt himself and gotten bandaged up all in the short amount of time that I had spent chatting with the other waiting room waiters?)
Then, my brain kicked in and I realized that this phone-surfing gentleman was not Mr. Rellim. I quickly stood up and said, "Oh! I'm so sorry! I thought you were my husband." I scanned the room for Mike and found him still standing at the receptionist's desk with his back to me, slowly shaking his head.
An older lady giggled. The man whom I had frightened did not.
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