The Quest To Date A Doc…

Hey ladies: so here’s a daydream you’ve probably had:

-dating your hot doctor

Well he doesn’t even have to be hot, generally “Dr.” anything will do.

Despite my fantasies, I’ve never actually “bagged” a man in white (though I’ve had my flailing attempts).  The way I see it there are 4 avenues to scoring yourself a doc:

-Hang out in “doctor social circles” (and look hot)

-Visit a friend in the hospital (and look hot)

-Date your actual doctor (this one rarely works, even when you’re hot)

OR

-Hurt yourself, head to the hospital in agony (while probably NOT looking hot), and try to pick up your ER doc

Well anyone who knows me knows that I love a challenge, so of course I went for the path of most resistance…

***

…A short while back I was suffering from chest pains.  They would typically appear after working out, and then eventually fade away.  So I ignored them.  On the 3rd day the pain was worse.  It accompanied every breath, so I Googled my symptom (dumb-ass move, I know).  I subsequently found 100 different links relating to  ”YOU WILL PROBABLY HAVE A HEART ATTACK SOON”-type themes.  This naturally led to a freak-out.

Luckily my dad was around, so I changed my clothes and we raced to the ER (what? I was wearing sweaty work-out pants…)

Once there I felt a little better, and as the nurses realized I wasn’t going to drop dead in the next minute, they sent me to the “lounge” to wait with all the others.

As we waited I scanned the room for potential “date-ables” (just because a girl has chest pains it doesn’t mean her hormones are fried…).

There was a man sitting across from me with a bloodied leg, and a gash about a half a mile deep.  Feeling hypnotized by his folds of open flesh, I began to wonder where he’d been.  I decided that he’d just hobbled back from a dragon-slaying match, in a noble attempt to “save the girl”. 

So he was a prince.

I wanted to date him as soon as possible.

I tried to give him my number, but surprisingly he seemed preoccupied.

Everyone else in the room was either married or self-obsessed with their life-threatening injury, so I turned my attention to twirling my hair (I can do that for hours without getting bored…does that mean I’m a bimbo?…).

A few hours later my time had arrived. 

That’s when it hit me:

-I was about to meet an ER doc!

I couldn’t believe that the importance of the night had escaped me!  Here I was worrying about some “chest pains”, when my fantasy to date a doctor was just around the corner!

Unfortunately I didn’t look hot, but I did the best I could.

Unfortunately (again) I was wearing one of those hospital gowns, which needless to say does nothing for the bod.  To make matters worse, I’d been told to remove my bra so they could take lots of x-rays and junk.

This was a problem for me, and for every other woman who relies on the magic of a “push together and up!” type bra.  In two quick seconds I’d gone from a pair of deceivingly large grapefruits to nothing at all (is this the time to say I felt “deflated”?).  I made what efforts I could in massaging my “back fat” over to the front (“directional fat repositioning” is the scientific term), but to no avail. 

Sensing that the battle was lost, I hung my feet off the bed rails suggestively, hoping upon hope that the doctor had a foot fetish (what can I say…desperate times).

After 20 minutes of heart-pounding anticipation (made more difficult by chest pains), the nurse announced the arrival of the doctor.  I licked my lips for one last time, and proceeded to dangle my feet to and fro.

And then it happened.

In walked a woman.

(?)

Was she “Assistant to the Medical Magician”???  Then why was she wearing a lab-coat?

And that’s when I realized that in all my fantasy-conjuring efforts, I’d completely ignored the possibility of a female doc (I’m a bad feminist aren’t I?  It’s just so hard to keep track of everything we do these days…I mean we work, we play sports, we wear pants, we do it all! I guess I just forgot about the “medical license” thingy…).

Now at this point you’d assume that I stopped concerning myself with boob size, but you would be wrong.  I actually cared even more, and that’s because my doctor-chick was STACKED.  As my co-worker friend would say: “Check out the BOMBS on that one”.

Indeed, check out her giant bombs.  I decided right then and there that she had a degree in plastic surgery, and had therefore rigged herself up with some “bombs” on a weekend away.

And so Dr. Bombs ran her tests…

…In the end my pain was actually a muscle strain caused by working out (oops), so I was banned from exercise for a full 3 weeks.

Well now I’m fine and back in the saddle, but a little upset overall.  It’s just that…I was IN the ER, right in the proverbial “Candyland” of men, and I was perfectly well enough to go on a medical date.  So where was he?!??!?!

What if my next visit to the ER involves a tragic twist (like a missing eye or a chopped off butt-cheek)?  Then it might not be so easy!

Damn these missed opportunities…