How Am I?
An answer forever lost to the ether...
First the background. Two weeks ago I had a little booboo that needed tending by the doctor. So I go. On the way in the nurse, like every single nurse in every single doctor's office in the universe asks the question.... "How are you?"
We chit chat a minute, and somehow the subject came up about lovers or boyfriends or whatever, and something was said about "all us pretty girls". Now, it's of note that all of this new (for me) doctor's nurses (four or five of them) are above average in the ol' pretty department. No supermodels, but definitely above average. All very pretty.
Having recently entered my relationship with Kate, I attempt a response off the cuff.
"I'm sorry, I'm spoken for and I can't see any pretty girls."
Only a guy would say such a remarkably stupid thing. A guy, or me.
Of course what I meant was "I'm sorry, I'm spoken for and I'm no longer allowed to notice pretty girls."
Of course how they jokingly took it just to give me static was "I'm sorry, none of you within eyeshot is pretty."
I took a great deal of playful abuse that day.
The followup was this morning. I'm sitting in the waiting room recalling this conversation and it occurs to me to have a much better response ready for "The Question".
I'm waiting a short while, so I come up with something soulful and dramatic. I'm gonna knock 'em out with this. This is a response even a robot could use to weaken a girl's knees.
She calls my name.
I walk through the door.
She pops "The Question".
I begin...
"How am I?
HOW AM I?
'tis a strange question to be asked
by one such as yourself
on my second descent into the inferno..."
"Step off the scale, it has a mind of its own sometimes."
She.
interupted.
my.
soliloquy.
"So is that a 'good'?"
"yeah, whatever."
Nurses have no sense of drama.
And so my well prepared dramatic response vanished into the sterility of the doctor's office, never to be heard by human ears.
It is small consolation for me, but perhaps you can hear my voice in your head:
"How am I?
HOW AM I?
'tis a strange question to be asked
By one such as yourself
On my second descent into the inferno,
My personal circle of succubi.
Oh how magnificent you all are,
Oh how seductive.
Thirsting, hungering,
Lusting for that which is truly me.
My Lover shall have my head for this answer,
But you all
You all
Shall have my soul
And I shall blissfully burn forever.
That is how I am."
Gilbert Gottfried could get laid with that answer.
First the background. Two weeks ago I had a little booboo that needed tending by the doctor. So I go. On the way in the nurse, like every single nurse in every single doctor's office in the universe asks the question.... "How are you?"
We chit chat a minute, and somehow the subject came up about lovers or boyfriends or whatever, and something was said about "all us pretty girls". Now, it's of note that all of this new (for me) doctor's nurses (four or five of them) are above average in the ol' pretty department. No supermodels, but definitely above average. All very pretty.
Having recently entered my relationship with Kate, I attempt a response off the cuff.
"I'm sorry, I'm spoken for and I can't see any pretty girls."
Only a guy would say such a remarkably stupid thing. A guy, or me.
Of course what I meant was "I'm sorry, I'm spoken for and I'm no longer allowed to notice pretty girls."
Of course how they jokingly took it just to give me static was "I'm sorry, none of you within eyeshot is pretty."
I took a great deal of playful abuse that day.
The followup was this morning. I'm sitting in the waiting room recalling this conversation and it occurs to me to have a much better response ready for "The Question".
I'm waiting a short while, so I come up with something soulful and dramatic. I'm gonna knock 'em out with this. This is a response even a robot could use to weaken a girl's knees.
She calls my name.
I walk through the door.
She pops "The Question".
I begin...
"How am I?
HOW AM I?
'tis a strange question to be asked
by one such as yourself
on my second descent into the inferno..."
"Step off the scale, it has a mind of its own sometimes."
She.
interupted.
my.
soliloquy.
"So is that a 'good'?"
"yeah, whatever."
Nurses have no sense of drama.
And so my well prepared dramatic response vanished into the sterility of the doctor's office, never to be heard by human ears.
It is small consolation for me, but perhaps you can hear my voice in your head:
"How am I?
HOW AM I?
'tis a strange question to be asked
By one such as yourself
On my second descent into the inferno,
My personal circle of succubi.
Oh how magnificent you all are,
Oh how seductive.
Thirsting, hungering,
Lusting for that which is truly me.
My Lover shall have my head for this answer,
But you all
You all
Shall have my soul
And I shall blissfully burn forever.
That is how I am."
Gilbert Gottfried could get laid with that answer.
