Crush retirement
I laid out my clothes the night before: black v-neck sweater, pedal pushers, and black jeweled mules with kitten heels. I was ready to see Dr. T.
My morning-of ritual consisted of shaving my legs, scrunching my hair so the curls fell across my eyes at just the right angle, and layering the perfume.
When the nurse came in and took my vitals, she commented on how good I smelled. Excellent, send the doctor in – I’m ready for him. Next in was Dr. T’s trainee. He looked at me somewhat fearfully, as if a good smelling redhead had not been around in a while. He reviewed my chart and then looked at me as said, “You are doing really good and you look great. The doctor will be in shortly.”
Dr. T came in with the trainee. He looked different – new glasses and thinning hair. His panty-melting accent was only a consolation prize. I starred at him as Trainee boy ran through the stats.
“You look like you are doing well. Get on additional calcium and zinc supplements and we’ll see you in a few months,” Dr. T said as he walked out.
For this I shaved my legs? I need to find a new McSteamy.