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My wife had a doctor’s checkup scheduled the other day on Long Island. We left the house an hour before the appointment time; it was a 45 minute drive.

As I was driving up the Southern State Parkway, I began to think about the WNBA. How the players never, ever dunk the ball. It’s not that they are not allowed to dunk, or that the players are not capable; they just don’t do it. I do not know why. But I’m glad; to me, dunking is as necessary as the ‘bat flip’ in baseball. It’s just showing off. It’s…

“Where are we going?” my wife asked.

“What do you mean? We’re going to the doctor!” I answered, annoyed.

“I know,” she said soothingly. “But did you mean to pass the exit for the Grand Central?” she asked. That’s my wife. Never speaks accusingly. Always sweet. Always makes it seem as if I have a good reason for every dumb thing I do.

“Huh? I’m taking the L.I.E.,” I answered quickly. As if I really intended to take the L.I.E. all along. As if my wife didn’t know I was making it up as I went along.

I eventually got us to Northern Boulevard. Took a right. I started to think about Jamie Foxx. The guy is an Oscar winner. Does he really need to shill for on-line gambling sites? Kevin Hart, too! The guy is on Shark Tank, he’s super rich, an entrepreneur, but he needs to do ads for gambling sites to make some extra scratch? I mean…

“Uhm…did you want to pass by the doctor’s office? ” my wife asked. “Do you need to make another stop first?” (See what I mean?)

“I don’t like making a left turn into traffic,” I said. (Oh, sure.) “Gonna make a U-turn.” My wife just smiled.

We found a spot in the basement level of the parking lot. There were warning signs posted on the wall: “Low Ceiling.”

“What does that mean?” I asked. “Is the car supposed to duck down?”

I got out and went around the front of the car to open the door for my wife. Which was when I smashed my head on the Low Ceiling. Made of concrete.

Everything got hazy, and I bent over, trying to find my balance.

“Are you okay?” my wife asked.

“Fine,” I lied yet again, rubbing my head. When I looked at my hand, there wasn’t too much blood on it. Oh well. Good thing I wear a cap these days; my wife won’t notice!

As I stumbled into the waiting room, I saw a sign on the wall. Our doctor was running behind. By one hour.

“They e-mailed you four times to remind you about this visit. Couldn’t they e-mail you that he was going to be late?” I complained, as we sat down in the crowded room.

I must have dozed off. When I opened my eyes, I was staring directly at the television, which was mounted on the wall. Some Chicago cop drama rip-off of the New York based “Third Watch.” I loved that show.

A bad guy yanked a driver out of a car, then took off in it. The cop radioed in a “partial plate number.”

“What?!” I said to no one in particular. “Why doesn’t the cop just ask the owner of the car, who is laying in the street, what his plate number is?” My wife couldn’t answer because she wasn’t there anymore. Must have been called in for her appointment while I was snoozing.

I looked at the other people in the waiting room. There was a well-dressed lady at the receptionist’s desk asking to see some other woman, either a doctor or maybe a technician, I’m not sure which. Kind of demanded, actually. I could not wait to see upcoming confrontation!

When the person finally appeared, I was somewhat disappointed, as the lady simply presented her with a gift-wrapped box.

And she was so happy. The woman took the gift and opened it. Then thanked her. Eight times in the ensuing two minutes! Six times she said, ‘Thank you so much!” and two times she offered just a plain “Thank you!!” Plus, two servings of “You made my day!”

One thank you would not have been sufficient? What’s wrong with people? Why do they need to go overboard?

“Thank you so much! Thank you so much! Thank you so much! Thank…” Okay, I’ll spare you. Even though I was not!

I was so incredulous that my head spun. Then I took another nap. I woke up to the sound of my own voice saying, “I like eggs…”

“What?” my poor wife said. She must have been done with her check up.

“Let’s go to a diner. I’m hungry,” I told her. I am very quick witted.

Soon we were sitting side by side in a booth at a nearby diner and I proceeded to tell her about what was on my mind.

“What’s the point of a bat flip?” I asked her, as I poured some milk into her coffee.

My wife, who doesn’t know the first thing about baseball but obviously loves me a lot, responded,

“I know. It doesn’t make any sense to me, either…”