Do you think she can hear me?

A typical day starts when the alarm clock goes off at 5:15AM . So it's really 5:05AM. I need to trick myself into getting up in the morning. Of course, I hear you asking yourselves, "It can't be much of a trick if she knows it's being done." Yes, well, go figure the female brain.

After slamming my fist down on the snooze button, at least three times, I peer over the side of the bed, one eye open, looking for Ginger. She is the senile, half blind family pet (my God, I have enough material on her to write a book!). She's as cute as a button and daft as they come. As always, my furry little rug is next to the bed. Proof again that I'm still limber most mornings. I manage to step over her while I attempt my exit from bed.

I make my way to the bathroom, praying I won't trip over anything. While in the bath, I hear the click, click of Ginger's nails. She is now setting the trap. She will be in the doorway of the bathroom…yep, there she is.

From there I cross the hall to my daughter's room, tap the foot sticking out from the blankets and stand back quickly as that foot kicks and announce "it's time to get up."

And so the day begins…

"Are you dressed?"

"Ugh, yes!"

"When did the dog go out last?"

"Can I have some money?"

"Ginger, do you have to go out?"

"Oh fudge! Where's my bus pass?"

"What happened to the lunchmeat?"

"Gary! When did the dog go out last?"

"I'm gonna be late! Where's my other shoe?"

One out the door, Me to get ready. Waffles in the toaster, teeth and hair done. Steps over the dog in the doorway once again. Damn, out of syrup and jelly just doesn't do the waffle justice.

Lunch, check. Tote, check. Purse, check. Keys, coat, shoes, check, check, check. Ginger now sitting in front of the door, "You're kidding me, now? Right? Gary! (yelling now) the dog has to go out!" Over the dog and out the door I go.

The tunes turned up, heavy metal morning, a stop at Tim Horton's for a coffee and I'm ready to start my day.

I love my job. I know, not too many people can say that. But I do. My coworkers are some of the best in the business and are all passionate about, not only their work but each other as a family.

My job is basically to answer billing questions of our patients and to collect cash from them. And, in spite of my complaints, I love talking to the patients. My favorites are the elderly ones. The more senile the better.

My first call is to a gentleman that was very upset (ok, upset is putting it mildly, he was pissed) about his billing. As I was looking at his account, I was asking about the weather in Rhode Island. Next thing I know he's telling me my voice is sexy and he is sitting in his boxers. Why me? No idea but he did cool down enough for me to explain his billing.

Several calls later, I explain a bill to a 91 year old woman who tells me that it's hell getting old and that she hopes it never happens to her. You have to love the attitude and between the two of us and anyone that will listen, I hope she doesn't either.

Of course, not all my patients are elderly and sweet. And they are certainly not entertaining. I do get my share of pistols. All I can say is I have not heard language like that since the last time I was drinking!

And my work day ends with the man who has his wife talk to me because he can't hear me. Of course the television is so loud I can't hear me. And all the while I am talking to her, the patient is on the extension telling her what to say. And she tells me like I can't hear him tell her what to say! It never ceases to amaze me with old men, the more they can't hear you, the louder they talk! I lost it when he yelled, "Do you think she can hear me?" If his wife and I had been in the same room, we would have been holding each other up. We were laughing so hard and the poor man never heard us.

On my way home, I stop at the bank to cash a check and bless the young man behind the counter who asks how I want my bills. "Spice it up, I've had a day". The dance he does suggests that he really wants to be a part of the "Canadian Ballet". Personally, he should give it a shot, he's not bad.

I park the car, get my bags out of the back and this, "What the hell is that smell?". The smell is coming from the back of the car and almost smells like something electrical is over heating. As I walk over the threshold, the only one to greet me is Ginger in the same spot I left her in. I inform Gary of he smell as he and Laura are off to do the grocery shopping. They come back with an "OMG!" on their tongues, "What is that smell?" If I knew, would I have asked an hour ago?

Now, here I sit, in the quiet of my home, giving you a detailed description of my day. I love the quiet at the end of the day, it's so peaceful until the sound barrier is broken with…

"Lynda! When was the last time the dog went out?"