Whiff of desperation

Yesterday I had my annual Grown_Up_Girl visit to the doctor. I moved it to April because February is so freaking lame.

I was a little self-conscious because . . . well, if you’re a girl, you know why. I’m out of practice as far as the humiliation that type of doctor visit entails. Ok, let’s be honest, I’m out of practice in a lot of ways, if you know what I mean. As evidenced below.

Anyway, my doctor walks into the exam room, followed by a young, non-nurse guy in a white coat. My doctor introduces Young White Coat as a fourth-year med student who is going to be starting as a resident at a local hospital in the next few months.

The exam begins, and as Young White Coat moves to stand just behind and to the left of my doctor, I notice he has no wedding ring. That’s right. I’m reduced to that. Looking at left ring fingers. So freaking lame. So I’m on the exam table, knees in the air, and I’m having to bite down really hard on my tongue because for some completely inexplicable reason, all I want to ask is:

Hey, Mr. Young White Coat, while you’re down there, if you happen to see anything that interests you . . . I am totally available.

Nice.