- Do gynecologists have nice handwriting? Or not? What does it mean when someone tells you that you have handwriting like a gynecologist’s? Is this a good thing, girls? If someone told me I had a urologist’s handwriting, I wouldn’t be as enthused as I was when I heard the above. On second thought, a man said that. Does that change the meaning?
- You are an exotically beautiful young woman at a garden party in a European capital on the grounds of an ambassador’s residence aswarm with diplomats, international civil servants and various VIPs. It is a warm, pleasant evening, food and cocktails are good and the orange of the sunset is gradually fading to purple etc etc. Your dress is fucking fantastic, great colors, great style, best outfit at the party and your hair makes you look as if you were drawn by that one Playboy cartoonist in the sixties and seventies, not Vargas, the other one, I think I mean Phil Interlandi. A man, say, oh, 44, with a Cuba Libre in one hand and two more inside pays you a compliment, without the Playboy cartoonist part. Does this make you feel flattered, or just, “not again?”
Two questions
Posted in Metamorphosism
I suppose it depends on the compliment. She probably looked at your hands and said to herself, “Christ, he’s got fingers like a gynecologist’s.”
Maybe the rubber gloves were a bad idea.
Who cares what she thought? Point is, you got to tell her what you were thinking. Later, while you’re daydreaming about this sort of thing in general, you won’t be wishing you had.
I’m all about being the casual fool whenever possible for the amusement of a beautiful woman.
If he has short greyish hair and hands like a gynaecologist, I’d probably blush.
Did I tell you the story about my friend who dated a hot, young gynaecologist? She brought him to our mutual friend’s baby shower, which was of course full of pregnant ladies. And he was, like, the only man. Plus he was charming. So he comes up to introduce himself, and I offer my hand, and he does “the twirl.” Tell this to Alpha: he would take his thumb and two fingers, pinched together, and inserted them into your waiting hand, and twirled into grasping position.
Every woman blushed.
OK so fast forward 6 weeks, to my annual pelvic exam.
My own doctor is out, having her baby, a week early. Hooray for Dr. Zhan! So I get to see the new doctor, whose schedule is more open. Go to station B and put your papers in the nurse station window. Look at list of doctors.
See hot young gynaecologist’s name.
Reconcile self to situation while naked in exam room.
Get pleasant old lady NP instead. See her for rest of life, or until insurance runs out.
The end.
Sorry, I should have a better ending, I know. But come on. Really.