I went to the doctor’s office the other day.
About 5 weeks ago I was sledding with my son down a reasonable-sized hill in his new sled. I felt our path was about to involve a tree so I put down my left hand to change our direction. Sadly the only thing that quickly changed direction was either a tendon or bone in my hand and that direction was due South towards ouchville. I whined briefly about it and then when I realized no one cared I stopped and figured I’d go down the hill a couple more times and then never do anything physical again.
Days and weeks went by and the pain stayed. It was aggravated by turning door knobs, steering my car and shoveling the driveway, all three of which I did muchly. It felt way better when I sat down and ate a vitamin-rich lunch free of trans fats, or at least I can only assume it would have not having done so.
Gave in and figured I’d better see the doctor on the off chance that something could actually be done about it. Went in this week and it was terrific because the waiting room only had one high school aged girl smartphoning away. I signed in and sat down and began smartphoning myself. I looked up at her at one point to see if we could make a smartphone connection, but she was enthralled with playing some game that required her to tilt the device back and forth. Whether it also required her to have her mouth open in an extremely non-sexy fly-catching manner I can’t say, but she did and it was pathetic.
“Let me have your health card, David,” the receptionist shouted out in a condescending way that suggested she was unaware that she was employed as a receptionist and that I was wearing a fine wool jacket from The Gap. I slowly stood up and presented it to her. She responded with a quick glance at the card and then said, “Oh, it’s the red one. That’s fine.” Typically the punishment for making me stand up for no reason is severe, but I could almost see past her perky young titties to her belly button due to the deeply V’d neck on her shirt, so I let the offense go unpunished and my erection and I sat back down.
A minute or two later and I was called into one of the exam rooms. Five minutes after that the slow adult receptionist popped her head into the room with my chart in her hand.
“What are you here to see the doctor about today?”
I slowly raised my left hand, paused and in a dramatic fashion replied, “My hand hurts,” and then lowered my hand. That was all the explanation she was gonna get.
“Okay,” she said. “Is that the left hand or the right hand?”
The awesomeness of that question made me giggle on the inside but on the outside I maintained a straight face. I slowly raised my left hand again, turned it back and forth at the wrist, looked at it, then looked back at her and said, “Left.” Retardelina the receptionist scribbled something down and walked away down the hall where I assume she got her shirt sleeve caught in the baseboard heater and died.
Nice knowin’ you, ya milk-titted dumbass.