by Jake Barnes
I paid a call on the good folks in the ER recently. I got nipped by a raccoon. In our neck of the woods there's a 99% chance that you won't get rabies from a ‘coon bite, but one percent is one percent.
I lay on a table in a cold room in one of those little blue gowns that open in back. I waited and waited. Finally a nurse came in and told me to roll over. She pulled down my shorts and gave me a shot in each cheek. When she finished, I turned around, lay back, and looked up at the nurse. She was a comely black woman.
“Does this mean that we are engaged?” I asked.
She frowned. “What?” she said.
I told her never mind. I thanked her. She nodded. She turned and left.
I sighed. No respect, I thought. To her I was just meat.
That's the problem with getting old, I mused. Nobody takes you seriously.
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Pure fiction.
But there's also the possibility you so excited her she fought, fiercely--hell, she fought ferociously--to contain herself, and lay awake all night wondering... *
Ha!
(at the all of it)
Great way to close. So true. I like it.
Hey, Jake, she at least gave you a shot or two:-))
Aged beef, we are.
"Now, she looked at him the way you would look at old meat."
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I hate getting shots and getting old.*
You'd think a little "flirting" would be welcome to ease the pain- if you're just meat, tell her you're a tenderloin.
:0!!! :-)))))!!!! *
There's more to this story, but I like what's here.
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