I watched the preacher from Bountiful on the news, smiling and smug as the reporter asked him about this nineteen wives and immediate was hit with the question that I am sure is on every man’s lips. Why?
I love my wife but one of the reasons is, there is only one of her. The other day I went to see my doctor who is sort of like having a second wife, and I can only imagine having another eighteen.
“You are still overweight!” The doctor said as he came in the exam room and looked me over quickly.
“Your still short.” I bet that won me points, especially when I think anyone under six feet, is short.
“You should have run out of your pills two months ago, why have you not been back for more?”
“Because they are memory pills and I forgot.”
“Have you been following the program I set up for you?”
“No, because I forgot to take the memory pills.”
Of course, I don’t have to answer at all, as he knows because I’m sure the wife sends him a report card.
“How can I get rid of these skin tags?” I asked.
“Sterilize some nail clippers and snip them off.”
I am a biker and we are tough. We ride in the hail and snow. We don’t fear road rash from dropping our bikes in the gravel. We fear no one. One of my buddies cut his own arm off after he was pinned under a tree and couldn’t escape. Another caught his arm in the bailer and after it stripped his arm of all the flesh and muscle, he broke the bone off and walked home. That is tough… but snip skin tags off… myself? “Isn’t there some drugs I can take first? That might hurt.”
He laughed and continued, “I think it’s also time for another prostrate exam.” He said with a smile just a little too big. I think he was enjoying the intimidation he was holding over me.
“Can’t be, I just had one before 9-11.” I winched remembering it, then adding, “and I liked that doctor better too, she had small fingers.” I said looking at the stubby sausages hanging off his hands.
“I have a female colleague that is six foot fourteen, and almost a hundred pounds. Her fingers are so slim and long she can check your tonsils from the underside. I can arrange for her to do it if you like?”
There was that smile again and I came to the conclusion that arguing with a doctor is like mud wrestling with a pig. Sooner-or-later you come to the conclusion that they like it.
“Okay, I give up. What do I need done today to extend my full body warrantee another five thousand miles.”
He handed me a couple prescriptions, and an envelope.
The prescriptions were no problem but the envelope had me worried. Seems he needed three stool samples and I couldn’t imagine holding it while I squatted over it and I am pretty sure I don’t have anyone willing to help so I told him so. He told me if I read the directions, I would see that there is a stick.
Okay this is bordering on just too much information but my last thought was I wonder what would happened if I just used some of my dog droppings. It looks like the same old Sh…tuff.
Perhaps if I had another dozen wives one would agree to helping, …but I somehow doubt it.
Back Road Scholar 