I went to the dentist yesterday. It was the first time I had been in over a year and a half. I had two cavities which didn’t seem nearly as bad as discovering that my ex-girlfriend was still my emergency contact.

And she doesn’t just hold this distinguished title at the dentist’s office. She’s my emergency contact for my general doctor, orthopedist, allergist, and the countless other doctors that I went to in the two years that we were dating.

It’s funny because at the time I thought that she was the most dependable and responsible person I knew. After all she was a real estate finance lawyer, and I was just a writer.

In retrospect she was a poor choice, considering that when I got hit head on by a mini van while riding my bike, she was nowhere to be found.

Which means that I need to choose a new emergency contact. And since choosing the most responsible person I knew didn’t pan out this time I’m going to choose the least responsible person I know.

So congratulations Chief, you are officially my emergency contact.

Please make sure to bring a bottle of Captain and Coke and four shots of Patron Silver to the hospital.

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