Visits to the doctor have the potential to be embarrassing enough as it is.
This visit, however, was the visit from hell.
So I’m waiting on that stupid bed/table thingy they make you sit on, with nothing on but that dumb hospital gown… feeling exposed, and more than a little ridiculous.
The doctor comes in… he’s some Indian guy with blue eyes. Who ever heard of such a thing?! Blue eyes? That can’t be natural.
He’s viewing my chart, sees that I’ve had a touch of the depression lately, and that I may have gained a pound or two recently.
He starts looking me up and down…
“So, looks like you’ve both gained a few pounds and gotten divorced in the past year, huh?”
I nod in the affirmative… the last 18 months have been rough… so maybe I ate a few too many french fries to get through it.
The doctor says to me, “I just don’t understand. Not only should you be happy to have gotten rid of your hubby- not depressed- but you should have lost weight- not gained it! You’re on the market now!”
Woah. I think he’s serious.
I hate him.
I ponder, can I actually kick him in the shin and get away with it?
In my fantasy world, this doctor is a big fat ugly cow… who’s divorced… and broke… with lots of bills to pay… and very depressed… and can’t seem to stop gaining weight.
Oh- and fuck the blue eyes.