I went to the Dr. last week. No worries, I just needed a referral, to a dermo. to check out these giant old person moles all over my body. Anyway, I am in the office, chillin', like you do, and the Doc comes in and sits down to discuss shit. ****Take note those of you with girl children, or no children, who think there is something wrong with mine*****

Doc: So, how are you doing? (furrowed concerned brow, and slightly fearful smile)

Me: Uh, fine? And you?

Doc: Good. So, you have 2 boys right?

Me: Yup. I do.

Doc: And how is that going? (bitch looks like she wants to cry)

Me: Um, well, they are still alive, and have all their limbs, and I am not drunk right now at (checking imaginary watch) 11 am, so I'd say pretty damn good.

Doc: Yea, I have 2 girls.

Me: I know.

Doc: I had a patient in here the other day. She brought her little boy with her. How old are your boys?

Me: 3 and 6.

Doc: Hers was 4. And, you know, boys are really different. It stressed me out, I mean the tension was palpable.

Me: Word Doc. Can you refill my sleeping pills while I'm here? Make it 30.



She is a fucking doctor. A real one, board certified in family medicine. She is concerned about my mental facilities, not because of anything I have done, or said, or anyway I have acted...but because I have boys. Shes never even met them. She doesn't even need to. I bet I could have gotten some seriously stronger shit than sleeping pills, remind me to work that angle next time.