Guess who has a date tomorrow? With a doctor?
A real doctor with a real medical degree. One who dresses in scrubs and saves lives and yells,
I need 2 cc’s of [insert life saving medicine here] STAT!
Then he runs around with those paddles that send electric shocks to your heart and he yells,
And not the kind of date that involves putting feet in stirrups and having your temperature taken rectally…unless someone gets lucky.
Yes, dear friends, yours truly is FINALLY going to have a date with a doctor. He seems charming, is well traveled, has a good personality, and IS A DOCTOR! Is it going to go well? Probably not. We all know how my dating adventures are either non-events, involve sweaty dudes who have too many feelings, or end in a train wreck.
But you know what? I don’t care. The lead up has been fun. His first message to me was written all in Spanish. Why? Because I mentioned that I spoke it fluently and he’s traveled extensively in Latin America and loves the language. Last time someone wrote me a message like that in Spanish was never. We exchanged numbers yesterday and started some text messaging. This afternoon he left me a message in espanol. Why? Because he speaks it fluently. Almost embarrassed because he may speak it better than I do and he’s a white boy.
Sure, part of me is jumping ahead to the, “OMG, my mom would be so psyched.” Why do I do that? Because I’m a chick. But guess what? I embrace my chickness. I’m excited about the prospects, and happy to be able to say I have a date with a doctor and the worst that will come out of this is that I have a story about a TERRIBLE date that I had with a doctor.
Fuck it. Let’s do this!
Wait, no. I guess the worst thing that could happen is he turns out to be some psycho and bits of my body are sent to the Canadian Prime Minister, or he takes drugs and tries to chew my face off. That would be a shitty date.