Pink Eye III

The doors opened, sparing me my ambivalence, and another overly-friendly person, this a nurse in her mid-twenties, cheerfully called us all "hon" and "sweetie" as we came in to the waiting room. Moments later I was giving insurance information to a woman something like a cross between Kelly Rippa and Ruth's hippie sister on Six Feet Under. When she asked me what was wrong with me she did it in a pre-school teacher sort of voice, as though I were a toddler who fell while learning to walk, and she stuck out her lower lip in a pouty sort of a cartoon frown. I told Her I had pink eye.
"Yef, I cun see yo eye iss pwetty eewa-tated,"
I felt mocked.
Back with overly-friendly nurse 1 (Patient First's customer service maybe cloyingly sweet and insincere but they do get points for speed), I stepped onto a scale and shocked her with my weight.