7.00am Thursday just gone.
I'm having chest hair shaved to receive one of six electrodes near my nipples, on my feet and on my arms. I'm lying stll on a leatherette green bench and there isn't a sound in the big GP surgery.
I'm here not because of some heart attack scare but because my GP has called for a check up.
I'm here at this early hour because I am a "worker" (their term) and have to drive over fifteen miles to get to work.
I have blood pulse height weight tests but not the sperm today. All is recorded. All is noted. She is a nurse. She does not judge.
My Doctor, however, is in George Orwell's Junior Anti-Sex League. I can already hear the moans about my bad habits coming through cold eyes and a silverfish mouth.
I apologise for being a lardarse but live off fruit juices. Mostly M&S Satsuma Juice bought on the way home. Food is boring.
She does an... Oooo I Know... We All Have Busy Lifestyles..
For the SMOKING bit, I change one small cigar a week inside the computer already to at least two BIG Cuban cigars a week. I know that when I'm on heat that number goes up.
I am surprised at how much pleasure I get from describing big cigars to the nurse. We both laugh but I suspect at such an early hour her finger checks out the position of the panic button under the desk.
I'm enjoying remembering this under the duvet here. I'm only spilling this because my GP is the woman who advised me to stop smoking cigars and take up cigarettes as, according to her, they are healthier.
I'm just wondering.
If you could be the puppet inside my mouth, what you would reply to this advice?
The only thing I can think to do is to +1 the number of cigars I claim to consume per week every time I have a chest hair shave. Just to rib the GP.
I'm sorry. I'm such a well-behaved man in non cyber life that these small stupidities bring out my low-level sinner.
Here's to the blog.
I'm having chest hair shaved to receive one of six electrodes near my nipples, on my feet and on my arms. I'm lying stll on a leatherette green bench and there isn't a sound in the big GP surgery.
I'm here not because of some heart attack scare but because my GP has called for a check up.
I'm here at this early hour because I am a "worker" (their term) and have to drive over fifteen miles to get to work.
I have blood pulse height weight tests but not the sperm today. All is recorded. All is noted. She is a nurse. She does not judge.
My Doctor, however, is in George Orwell's Junior Anti-Sex League. I can already hear the moans about my bad habits coming through cold eyes and a silverfish mouth.
I apologise for being a lardarse but live off fruit juices. Mostly M&S Satsuma Juice bought on the way home. Food is boring.
She does an... Oooo I Know... We All Have Busy Lifestyles..
For the SMOKING bit, I change one small cigar a week inside the computer already to at least two BIG Cuban cigars a week. I know that when I'm on heat that number goes up.
I am surprised at how much pleasure I get from describing big cigars to the nurse. We both laugh but I suspect at such an early hour her finger checks out the position of the panic button under the desk.
I'm enjoying remembering this under the duvet here. I'm only spilling this because my GP is the woman who advised me to stop smoking cigars and take up cigarettes as, according to her, they are healthier.
I'm just wondering.
If you could be the puppet inside my mouth, what you would reply to this advice?
The only thing I can think to do is to +1 the number of cigars I claim to consume per week every time I have a chest hair shave. Just to rib the GP.
I'm sorry. I'm such a well-behaved man in non cyber life that these small stupidities bring out my low-level sinner.
Here's to the blog.
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