Handsome M.D.

Recently, my wife was experiencing acute ankle pain. Although we did not think it was broken we decided to use the opportunity to visit a new walk-in clinic in the area. Unlike other local clinics, this one was equipped with a playground, movie theater, and complimentary snacks. There was even a concierge onsite to make sure our experience was as pleasant as possible.

Once signed in, we were issued a small paging device (akin to those used at restaurants) that would vibrate when it was our turn to consult with the physician. I especially appreciated this amenity as there is nothing more nerve-racking than hearing a member of the staff repeatedly mispronounce an ethnic name at high volume.

I must admit that I was somewhat reluctant to bring my wife here because a female co-worker of my father’s had commented that the doctor she saw there was “the best looking man she had ever seen.” It is bad enough that I have to compete with the genetically superior pharmaceutical reps every time we go to a medical clinic, I was not about to pay for the privilege of introducing my wife to Dreamboat M.D.

However, I estimated they must have scores of doctors and it was statistically unlikely that ours would be either male or unnecessarily attractive. I was sadly mistaken. He was tall, dark, and handsome and was probably born with the ability to salsa dance. When he started rubbing my wife’s foot and asking if “she felt anything” I wasn’t sure how I wanted her to answer. To be completely honest, I almost asked him to check my feet.

As if that wasn’t enough, he managed to working in the fact that he sometimes experienced similar discomfort whenever he “rode his motorcycle.” I interrupted before he had a chance to reveal that he had a rare condition that caused permanently-sculptured abdominal muscles. I was afraid that if the visit went on any longer my wife was going to develop hypochondria and require ongoing therapy.

I even reassured myself that while he may be better looking and more financially appealing, I still considered myself somewhat of a pseudo-intellectual. Perhaps I could convince my wife that they would run out of topics of conversation once they had finished discussing how the light reflecting from his diploma highlighted his chiseled jawline.  

It was about that time he noticed we had been watching a History channel documentary and remarked, “I love the History channel!” Of course he does. He probably even has a blog just called “Exceptional” and plays poker with Matt Damon every other Saturday.

I finally managed to steer the conversation back toward tendonitis and I was prepared to ask questions about explosive diarrhea if necessary just to kill the mood. Fortunately, he handed us a prescription and was out the door to diagnose someone else. If everyone on staff looks like that, I fear my wife’s health may decline at an alarming rate....