Too much doctoring can get on your nerves.

First of all, let me state clearly that I really like my internist. And Dr. M apparently likes me, too, because she demands a hug every time I see her and tells me that my upbeat personality “makes her day.” This may be genuinely swell, but I’m currently fed up with all things medical. I see Dr. M every three months for a checkup and a never-ending series of blood tests to make sure I’m surviving all my meds, and now, of all things, she wants me to get a MAMMOGRAM — I hate mammograms! — and see a cardiologist for a STRESS TEST. She keeps muttering about my advancing age and “risk factors.” A scheduling nurse named Norma called today to set up appointments for me, at which time I told her I’m going to London for the royal wedding and would get back to her in May if I felt like it. (Just kidding.)

The bottom line is, I’m turning into my mother and it’s creeping me out.

To cheer myself up I ordered 200 black velvet hangers tonight from Amazon.com so I can reorganize the closet in the master bedroom. I have no idea whatsoever how many I’ll actually need, but 200 should be more than enough with a few left over for moderate wardrobe expansion. Closet organization is BIG FUN, so please send me an email if you want to come over and help. We can order in for lunch.

For the record, I priced comparable hangers first on HSN.com — Joy Mangano’s “Huggable Hangers” — but they’re overpriced, come in ugly day-glo colors and include lots of stupid accessories that I don’t need, like cedar balls and skirt clips. They also have an inordinate number of fascinating negative reviews. I never realized how many people can get aggravated by something as innocuous as a HANGER.

Sam just called. He’s working late again tonight so I’ll probably be on my own here until 3 a.m. or later. I think I’ll fold socks now and watch a movie to keep out of trouble. Thank you for reading this.