Last night, I was driving to church when my phone rang. The town associated with the number matched the town where my rheumatologist practices. I wasn’t connected to a Bluetooth, so I couldn’t pick up, and in the two minutes it took for me to stop at a red light and play the voicemail, I decided that my doctor was calling because he had either misread my recent chest x-ray or missed something in my bloodwork. Something fatal. I was dying. This was it. The big one. How would he find a way to tell me over the phone? My poor doctor.
The call was from Whole Foods Market. Confirming that I wanted to pick up my brined turkey on Tuesday.
I’m an idiot.