Happy Birthday, My Dearest Love

So yesterday I get home from work, right, and there are two identical-looking letters from the hospital. I open them up, and I find two different items, mailed a day apart from the same address (one I have never been to) in a vast and spreading hospital chain:

One told me that I was more than a year overdue for a routine screening, and that if I delayed any longer my firstborn child would be the Antichrist (this is a Catholic hospital).

The other congratulated me on my recent screening and announced that their highly-trained staff had found no "significant" abnormalities in the results. Implying that an embryonic Antichrist, give or take, might not raise their eyebrows too much.

Life is good sometimes.