Seeing Spots

 My father likes going to the doctor. 

     He sees it as a social outing. 

     He likes to flirt with the receptionist who checks us in, the nurse who takes his vitals, and the nurse practitioner who sees him when the doctor is unavailable. 

     He'll make a joke to the receptionist...

     "I should bring my dog here," he'll say.

     "Really?" the poor girl will answer. "Why?"

     "Because he's a Dalmatian and he keeps seeing spots!"

     ...and if it gets a laugh, he'll repeat it to the nurse, the nurse practitioner, and anybody else who makes the mistake of making eye contact.

     But usually when he's funny it's unintentional. 

     "...he keeps seeing spots!" 

     "That's funny," the doctor said without laughing, having perhaps heard them all before. "Now, what seems to be the problem?"

     "It's my foot, doc. It hurts when I walk." 

     "Well, Mr. Duchene" the doctor explained as he gave my father's foot the once-over, "you're 97. At your age you've got to expect aches and pains." 

     "What about my other foot?" my father argued in all seriousness. "It's the same age and it doesn't hurt at all."