A light rap on the door has me sitting up an inch straighter before I remember I need to go slow and I wince. Son of a mothertrucker that hurt.
“You okay?” Dr. Dire is at my side in moments and I wonder if speedy bedside assist is something they teach in med school.
I inhale a sharp breath and distract myself the only way I know how. I allow my inner ramblings to take over. Cows go moo. The moon is not made of cheese. Twinkies are everything that’s wrong with life. Does Elicia judge me when I go too long between waxing? That reminds me, I’m so glad I got waxed the day before I left to come to South Africa, I don’t want to think about what Dr. Dire and his team sees when he fixes a hip. Do doctors sneak a peek when they operate? That would be unethical if they didn’t need to actually see said fun area right? I think I’d sneak a peek if the roles were reversed and Dr. Dire was my patient. I bet he’s packing. At least I hope he is—it would be a damn shame if he was this good looking and was running around with a teeny weeny. Damn, it’s a good thing I’m not a surgeon, my morals are down the shithole. I feel the heat creep up my cheeks and Dr. Dire presses the back of his hand to my cheek. Does he think I have a fever? Continue reading