This morning I woke up groggy and late and had to rush to get ready. Being as I am retaining all the water in North America( seriously, it's on CNN) I wore not my best clothes. Beyond not my best clothes. See, every girl has certain undergarments that are reserved for 'special times'. Mine? Are extra classy because that's how I roll. I believe they have been around since the Regan administration and are held together by a pray and a single string. I figured, whatever, according to the oracle book I am dying alone surrounded by cats and headed out.
To my dermatologist appointment.
In Beverly Hills.
I pulled into the garage at the same time as a nice looking gentleman in a $250,000 Bentley. Brand new, still had the stickers on Bentley. I pulled on my chic Gap hoodie and walked into the office. About 10 minutes later, after having the nurse explain to me that as a first time patient they want to do a routine skin cancer check, I am wearing a hospital gown. Then, in walks the guy from the Bentley, my new doctor. It is then that I realize that Bentley boy is going to do the body check and see my underwear. My super classy for my eyes only held together by a wing and a prayer panties. Cold. Sweat. Luckily it's at that point that I sent a silent thanks up to Jesus as doctor boy is gay. And I think, after my exam, ready to send me a check for new underwear.
Tonight the underwear go in the trash, with a tear and a thanks for the fond memories.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment