Temptation

Sitting in the clinic today, I'm staring out a glass wall and down into the cafeteria. Inviting smells of coffee roll through the air from the coffee shop also nearby. I can't concentrate on my book. I'm glancing at the clock over and over. Fifteen hours have passed without a drop to drink or a morsel of food. Soon the test (and therefore my fast) will be complete.

I look up at a lady crossing the lobby. She returns an unpleasant look. "Don't look at me like that," she seems to be thinking, seeing the alluring gaze on my face. Oh, I'm looking. That vivacious, curvy sandwich, that hot cup of coffee in your hands. Yeah, I can't stop the stare.

Dexter or Sinister?

I am not a doctor's office professional. I was never a sickly child and have—so far—been fortunate enough to dodge any serious accidents.

Lately, though, I've found myself going to the doctor more than ever. So, I've gotten pretty quick-on-the-draw with the battery of questions:
"Are you currently taking any medications?" No.
"To your knowledge, are you allergic to any medications?" No.

I just saw a specialist (neurologist) and I knew there would be some new tools and paraphernalia I had never seen before. (I was especially amused by a weird tuning-fork-like thingy that vibrates: "Tell me when you feel the vibration go away.") But, I was taken aback by one of the standard questions: "Are you right-handed or left-handed?"

Hmmm. It makes perfect sense that a neurologist would ask that question—perfect sense. Yet, I would never have predicted it. I have never thought of the question of hand preference in a serious manner:
•The old punchline: "Only left-handed people are in their right mind!"
•Learning a new word as a young kid: Eating with my off-hand at a family dinner, my uncle says, "Are you ambidextrous?" "What does that mean?" "Equally clumsy in both hands."

"To your knowledge, are you allergic to any medications?" No.
"Are you right-handed or left-handed?" Right.