Que Sera Sera

It's a pill that gives worms to ex-girlfriends

I’ve had a sore throat and a cough this week. I’m headed out of town tomorrow, and I thought it might be polite not to infect an entire plane or another region of the country, so I went to see the doctor. Not my real doctor—who apparently won’t see you at a few days’ notice unless you have a baby hanging halfway out your judy, and that baby has the 12-Day AIDS—but the walk-in family clinic affiliated with my real doctor. So I spent an hour and a half in the clinic waiting room sitting next to this couple I swear to God were R. & Aline Crumb, and they were having this amazing conversation that I wrote down on the back of a credit card receipt until I ran out of room. A sample:

Man: ...so the government asked me to run some surveillance on this girl...
Woman: Just like that movie with Tom Berenger and Mimi Rogers where he’s supposed to be watching her but he ends up doing her!
Man: Right! Only with us, that part came before.


Woman: ...and I was SO fucked up at the time I had to crawl into the bathroom on my hands and knees. I took these pills, they were like, small? And green?
Man (nodding knowingly): And round.
Woman: Yes! Round! That’s the ones.
Man: I’ve had those before.
Woman: You see, I was dating a man named Justin at this point in my life.

Then the woman told us all that she was going to use the fucking ladies’ room, and another man came over and took her chair and started up a conversation about June weddings with the R. Crumb man. I love how the crazies can spot fellow crazies in public, like they’re all drawing little crazy fishes in the dirt with their walking sticks.

So I finally got back into an exam room, and a nurse named Svetlana informed me she was going to give me a strep test. I was like, “Oh! Um, okay, but I should tell you, I don’t do very well at those.” Which is a giant understatement. My old doctor in Tulsa gave up on giving me strep tests years ago, because none of her nurses would give me one anymore. Apparently I’m what the nursing community calls a “kicker.” This is not on purpose. I can’t help it that my gag reflex is somehow connected to my knee. It’s a nice little surprise in the bedroom as well.

So Svetlana said, “You do not want test? I see the spots.”

And I said, “No, no, I want, I just… I might not… do… very well. I might kick. You. On accident.”

And Svetlana raised her eyebrow and said, “You want swab yourself?”

No one had ever offered me this option before. DIY strep test, hell yes! So I said, “Yes. Yes, I want very much to swab myself.” And I went into the bathroom and used the mirror and I don’t see what the big fuss is about medical school anyway. And no, I did not kick the cabinet because I am not a parakeet.

Anyway. So I gave Svetlana my swabs and sat down to wait for the doctor. And when the doctor comes in, he’s my age and very cute, and shakes my hand and says, “Hi, I’m Dr. Smith,” and I’m suddenly very glad I am wearing a skirt and sitting up straight. I definitely sensed a little vibe there, and he was flirty and very thorough, and while he listened to my heartbeat I silently high-fived myself for not having made my BJ-itis joke.

So he writes me a prescription and we shake hands again, and I come back to my office, and an hour later my cell phone rings with an unknown number. And when I answer it, a voice says, “Is this Sarah? This is Dr. John Smith.” And I said, “Oh, hello,” and he said, “I was just wondering if you had any trouble getting that prescription filled.” And I said, “No,” and he said, “Oh, okay. Because sometimes they need my number to fill it.” And I said, “No, it was fine, they didn’t ask for your number,” and he said, “Well, just in case, let me give it to you,” and I was like, Dude! You are totally leaving your blue T-shirt at my house right now, Dr. John Smith!

It’s too bad I make it a rule not to date rich guys.

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