Milestone: my first time to go to the doctor to resolve the issue of little creatures living in my digestive system. No biggie, some antibiotics will take care of it. When I first sat down in the doctor’s office, the only thing he said to me was, ‘Yes?’ I described my problem; he asked me where I stay (not sure what that had to do with it, but whatever), then wrote me something to take to the lab. Later, after things happened that I won’t describe here (though I would like to say that a doctor’s office should have an indoor toilet. And that toilet should have soap. Just sayin’…), I went back to his office to hear the diagnosis. He gave it, told me what he was prescribing and then started some small talk. Where’s your family? What, no husband and kids? No boyfriend? Then he told me he’d like to marry me. ‘Sure,’ I said, ‘But I will only marry you if are rich.’ And frankly, he was a little wishy-washy on his income status, so I think I’ll hold out for something better.
Still, you have to give the guy some credit. After all, the first words he ever heard me say were related to the state of my poo.
White Woman Wrestling Leopards 