Just Shut Up

I stepped onto the scale, annoyed as always that I had my heavy boots on. Why do I always wear my heaviest shoes on the days I am going to the doctor’s?

“120,” the nurse wrote before asking, “How tall are you?”

Not understanding why it wasn’t already on my chart, I answered him, “5’10".”

He led me to the exam room, and I took in his leg-sized, muscular arms that were fully revealed due to the fact that the man cut the arms off his scrubs. “So, why aren’t you doing print work?”

“Ha…you’re cute,” I said, with little enthusiasm.

“No, really. You’ve got the body. You’ve got the look. My wife was with (fill in name of agency here) and she had the look and all, but couldn’t keep it below 135. You…you seem to have no problem. You’ve even had a kid, right? You should definitely model.”

I didn’t answer. Just a note to other male nurses looking to stroke the ego of a patient, really not that necessary. When your bladder feels like its full of razor blades and you’ve just handed in a urine specimen the color of the cranberry juice you feel sure the doctor will recommend you drink heavily during the next week, you really don’t give a rat’s ass whether or not someone thinks you should model.