Salty Sal

It's been quite some time since I've made an appearance on this blog. It's getting harder and harder to hack into. I have to be really passionate about something to take the time to consult my IT experts. Those people don't work cheap. But today I went to the clinic to see my doctor about a private matter and I was shocked by how things are run. I have to talk about it. I don't go to a doctor unless I'm about dead. But I'd been troubled by a female problem. The female parts backfire on a person after the age of 50. You're done having babies and what good are you? You're sent to the back of the room to wait for the angel of death. The female parts fall apart. Anyway, I digress. I checked in and took a seat on one of the sticky plastic chairs. I looked around for a magazine to help pass the time. There were no magazines! No printed material! Not even a Jehovah's Witness brochure warning of the end of the world. I walked up to the desk and waited to ask the young receptionist if she could find me some reading material. She was texting on her cell phone and didn't look up for several minutes. I asked her where the magazines disappeared to and she looked at me as if I was a lunatic. She told me printed materials had been banned in the waiting room. Didn't I know that magazines were germ magnets? Did I not realize that people sneezed and then picked up Ladies Home Journal and 
disease laden droplets fell on the "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" article. Reader's Digest was lethal. National Geographic harbored dangerous viruses. "Lady", she said struggling to talk with the earring in her tongue, "it's all on your phone. You don't need to read a dirty magazine." Huh, I thought dirty magazines were publications with pictures of women with exposed breasts and other private parts. Now the breasts were exposed by the woman at the desk and the Reader's Digest and Better Homes and Gardens were 
"dirty". It's no wonder I stay home as much as possible.