A few weeks ago my friend told me about this beautiful bachelor who also happened to be a pediatrician. My friend and her sister raved about Dr. LoveMonkey, admitting they became giddy every time their children ran a fever.
Flash forward to last week. Zack had a rash. It looked suspiciously like ringworm, so I made an appointment with my pediatrician. My pediatrician was out of town so they managed to squeeze us in with, you guessed it, Dr. LoveMonkey.
Lest you suspect otherwise, I totally kept my cool. I was just surprised that the infamous Dr. LoveMonkey actually worked with my pediatrician; to tell you the truth I suspected he was an urban legend and my friend was just messing with me. I was curious, but otherwise unaffected.
Unaffected, that is, until Dr. LoveMonkey walked into the examination room. My friend hadn’t done the man justice. He was handsome alright, and exotic, and warm, and hypnotic in a dizzying sort of slack-key guitar way. For a girl who prides herself with being educated and articulate, I immediately became brainless and bumbling. Had I only become speechless. But no, unfortunately, speech was the last thing to go.
After my awkward description of Zack’s strange rash in which I somehow managed to say I was divorced, Dr. LoveMonkey looked my son over and said the rash was textbook eczema.
“Is that genetic, because I think I have it.”
Yes, I said that. And, no, I didn’t stop talking. I couldn’t stop talking. Words dropped from my mouth in humiliating combinations.
But the nice doctor didn’t bat an eye. “Yes. It’s definitely genetic.” And he showed me the classic areas eczema can found, including the inner forearm.
And I promise I’m not making this up. I wish I were. But after he pointed that out I actually began rolling up my sleeves to show Dr. LoveMonkey my eczema, because apparently in that brainless moment I thought flakey skin just might be the key to this man’s heart. Oh, and I think I said something dazzling like, “I have that…”
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I met the most eligible bachelor in Idaho Falls and showed him my eczema. Now I’m no brain surgeon or rocket scientist, but I’m guessing this means I’m not quite ready to date.
Date or interact with the single male species.