I am not alone in the idea that scrubs are super fucking hot. Like mind boggling hot. It has always been my kryptonite. And there are a lot of nurses in the sites. And I give then all a swipe right. Not only to I find them, for the most part hot as he’ll, I respect what they do.
Don’t judge me.
So imagine my pleasure as I checked in to the ER this morning to get a cyst removed. Lovely ladies all around me. All calling me sweetie and showing concern. And rocking some bomb ass bodies covered in sky blue scrubs. It was like a dream. I came rolling in at 6am, hoping to get this shit lanced and move on.
It is a normal cyst, nothing outrageous or disgusting. I think it is but that is because it is part of me and the whole biome that makes up Mike is a cesspool to me. It bothers me. Something I can grab on to, latch my self loathing to use as a nice excuse for why every female finds me repugnant.
So here I am, lovely nurse checking my vitals. I am beyond nervous at the idea of getting cut into. My vitals were great, high on the BP but that was because of the environment.
“You have beautiful veins.”
Now call it the loneliness, but that was one of the nicest things a stranger has said in months. Pathetic.
When I get nervous or excited my brain to mouth has a complete break. I hear the words as I think them. This can be dangerous. Especially when you have no filter anyway. As she was taking vitals three more lively ladies stroll through in those damnedable scrubs. Somehow, each was more attractive than the last. Maybe I died in bed and this was heaven. Or they were going to remove their scrubs to show elongated torsos covered in scales and black ooze. I did a quick sniff for brimstone.
What does it say about someone’s mental stability that four beautiful women show up and the first thought is I died and the second is waiting for the demons to attack?
Seriously. What kind of state is my head in? I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Always in high alert for the warning signs that the ship is sinking bit aware that I would be half drowned before I ever noticed.
But damn they looked good in that outfit. If I am going to be consumed by cannibal demons at least let them wear scrubs and call me sweetie first.
If I am going out, let me have my dignity and be aroused.
Times like these that I can truly understand why the ex left. I would bounce as well but I find this skin suit and I are a set.
At least I have pretty eyes.
My mouth is going. The ladies are laughing. A particularly gorgeous blonde comes in and asks my nurse if she is alone. She points at me and says Mike is here. I pop off about how I am invisible to the fairer sex. Now there are five nurses watching my vitals get taken and listening to me ramble about dating sites and being alone. two of them just got out relationships as well. I warned them that if they use dating sites they will more than likely be stuck seeing pics of guys like me.
I got a phone number. I won’t call it. No where near the testicular fortitude necessary for this venture. I was taken down the hall to a new room to wait for the doctor. A new nurse shows up because of shift change. My stupid fucking mouth begins to roll again. The door is open and I am gathering a crowd. We are laughing and talking about what the fuck ever I am rambling about.
Not ranting. Nor raving. Just rambling and entertaining the sexy scrub laden goddesses.
Enjoying myself even.
In the end I at least talked to real women. Not cyst removal as without infection they can only recommend other doctors outside the hospital. So a total waste physically.
But mentally? I am down to 175 lbs and in my head that sounds wonderful. The ladies all gathered and wished me luck. I made an offhanded remark about driving into a pole for an excuse to see them again. Two blushed. One gave me a hug. It was awkward as shit. I worry my strength is face to face contact and that the messaging is not going to let me have a real chance.
If we could photograph someone’s personality and use that as a metric I feel everyone would have a better chance. You could see the laughter and joy, pain and doubts instead of the body and face. I have known beautiful women that were devoid of inner beauty and plain janes that shine like a million suns. And I would prefer someone that I can laugh with and share the bad and good.
But those scrubs. I bet they would have looked even better in a pile on the floor next to the bed.
And no I did not try and smell her hair when she hugged me. Though as I walked out I had an errant one stuck to my shirt. It is wrapped around my ring finger. We are engaged whether she knows it or not.
I kid. We are not there yet. No hair golems and frantic magick to try and bring life. I swear that I will not try and bring life to a homonculii anytime this year.
2018? All bets are off.
Now I am sitting here alone on the couch, writing to you dear reader and convincing myself it is all going to work out in the end. Things are not dire. I have found that my friends are true and strong and far better than I deserve. And I have you. And if my different dating profiles say anything at all, it is that I am loyal and loving and honest to a fault. So this most likely real, this bond we share.
Listen to Tyler the Creator, Mr Lonely/911. That is about as honest a song as ever written.