During the holidays we often get nostalgic. We visit with friends and family and talk about all the memories the season reminds us of. Although it may not be relevant and may have nothing to do with friends and family, I have a story to share. I bet it will be more interesting to hear than when Uncle Ned gets drunk at Christmas and tells his gangrene story.

I was seeing an otherwise wholesome girl when she informs me that she’s contracted an infection in her special area. Being new to the city, I figure it is time to start the search for a local doctor. I find a well-recommended family practitioner just a few miles from my apartment and make an appointment.

Fun with Science!

The office reception area looks new. I sign in using a fancy wireless touchpad and flirt with the cute receptionists while I’m waiting for the doctor. Nothing about the experience so far suggests anything out of the ordinary… until the nurse calls me back and I see how tiny the office is. The entire practice consists of the waiting room, the area behind the counter, and a walk-in closet on the side that doubles as the examination room.

I sit on one of those beds with the disposable paper and wait. As I’m watching the various people move about the office it dawns on me that “family practice” is literal in this particular instance. The father is the doctor, his wife is the nurse, and his two collegiate daughters are the receptionists and assistants.

Normally this wouldn’t be a concern, but throughout the entire examination no one feels the need to shut the examination room door. Oh well, I’m not bashful.

Doc: So what are we here today for?

Ken: A girl I was seeing says she thinks she has an infection. I thought I’d look into it, see what my situation is.

Doc: How long have you been with this girl?

Ken: Probably about a week.

Doc: And how often have you had intercourse?’

Ken: Eight times in two days?

I guarantee that mother and daughters heard every word of the examination.  I even made eye-contact a few times while I’m delivering the details of my personal life. It might have been awkward for him, knowing that earlier I was fraternizing with his daughters, but it certainly didn’t bother me. And I don’t know what he would have to worry about anyway; the results came back negative. Unless the man doubts the accuracy of his own work, he knows I’m clean.

Maybe when I go back for my yearly physical I’ll ask the cuter girl out. Dinner with the parents can’t be any more awkward than knowing they have access to your blood-test results.