“You will need to make an appointment.”
“I’d prefer not”
“Miss, you haven’t been to see the doctor since December 2006.”
“See! I was just there!”
“Miss, the doctor can see you on Friday at 9:15.”
“Fine, fine, fine– you win.”
I am going to the doctor. I don’t want to go. Honestly, I am panicking here. I really don’t want to go. It’s not the doctor part that freaks me out– it’s the exposure. I hate being examined, I hate being naked, I hate fearing that I may involuntarily fart or something.
I really need to get ready. OK– I can do it. Thnk good, happy, nice thoughts…. Charles Bronson and ice cream, Charles Bronson and ice cream, Charles Bronson and ice cream.
No sympathy from me. I have to have my feet in the stirrups more this year than in the past …probably 6 or 7 years.
Under the circumstances, you’d probably be forgiven for even a deliberate fart; it’s not like this has never, ever happened before.