The Ordinary Ones

My sister was being examined by her doctor when I heard him from the private side of the room:

“Your daughter is doing really well!”

—

It is true that, a few minutes before, when his phone had rung and a song from The Bee Gees had come on, he had looked at me and said in a wink:

“The best music is from our generation!”

At the moment, I had decided I hadn’t heard well and brushed it off, but now my worry was confirmed. 

He thought I was my mother. He thought I was seventy.

I KID YOU NOT.

“She is my sister,” I stated blankly. “We are two years apart.” I continued, painstakingly swallowing my emotions. 

He stayed mute, pretended to focus on his screen, then changed the subject.

—

As we walked out of his practice, my sister told me she was shocked and upset, and added that he was incredibly stupid, rude, made no sense and that he should be examined. My mother said the same when I texted her—still, she couldn’t hide her satisfaction. 

“Ahahah! He thought you were me!”

I know that my mother is slightly …