“Take your clothes off, wrap the sheet around
your waist, the smock opens in the back, turn the
blue light on when you’re ready. The doctor will
be in with you shortly.” The nurse shut the door.
I took off my jeans, crumpled my G-string in
a ball and stuffed them in my pants pocket, put
my bra on the hanger, my button-down shirt over
the bra, then sat down between the stirrups. I
wished I’d worn socks—I get dingy flip-flop rings
around my toes from the dust whenever I decide
it’s better to hike up the hill than pay for parking
in the medical center’s overpriced garage.
I grabbed a parenting magazine and tried to
make myself comfortable—as comfortable as
a person can be with a paper towel wrapped
around their waist and an ugly pink tunic that
opens up in the back, like the little ties are going
to make a difference. The doc was late as usual,
but I wasn’t going to complain. I went back to
flipping pages in my magazine. My cell phone