The Doctor

The doctor was silent, he seemed lost in his own world. I used to worry the first few times he did that, but it seems like it's just his way of nursing a persistent migraine. I asked him about his on-call schedules for next week, had to repeat myself as he was soon busy tapping on my left collar bone with his fingers.

“Good bone mass!” He declared with an air of animated satisfaction, I had to roll my eyes.

He then reached over and tried to tap my right collar bone, and we got into a pretty nasty anti-tickling rampage/ wrestling exercise right on the bed, throwing the comforters off their perfect arrangement. Mum's gonna frown for sure (not for to the sight of four pairs of entangled limbs - that would bring up her infamous selective memory loss syndrome instead, but at the sorry state of the crumbled comforters). Did a quick check of the door, she had not been alarmed by the commotion. Good.

But my poor naked collar bones, I had to hold on to them even after we had settled down to keep them safe from the inquisitive fingers of a well-trained doctor, whose face was now inching towards my chest instead. There was no handy statoscopes around, he'll need to go much closer to check the heartbeat.

“So I’m now your mistress?” The doctor asked suddenly.

Silence. It’s my turn to be lost in my world. I said nothing, I don’t think he’s expecting me to.