Sunday, November 17, 2013
"Well, I thought I had a hot flash." I tell my gyno and wait for his usual reaction.
"See," he waggles a finger at me, "I told you it would happen."
Yeah, predictable but wrong. Of course my attitude took a drastic shift from snotty to nice, but hot flashes? "Nah, I refuse to get hot flashes." He shakes his head but I have more to say. "I was in the bathroom when the temperature skyrocketed and I wanted to hurt my husband."
"That," he says, head bobbing, "is definitely a hot flash."
My gyno is a nice man. He has silver hair. He has a wife who quilts and his instruments are warm. Warm is good. Ankle cocked across his knee, he leans back in his chair and peers at me. He looks amused. Swathed mummy style in a paper gown I sit on the table and wait a beat. "You would think so," I roll my eyes, "but Rob put flood lights in the bathroom fixture." I splay my fingers. "Five floodlights."
Eyes bright, he guffaws.
I win, sort of. I've got Rob and Rob has a strange and marvelous mind. Where he gets his ideas is a mystery to me. Floodlights indeed.