Some days I search for things to write about; most days I find myself in situations that beg to be written about.

For countless months I have been seeing doctors regarding some knee injuries I got back in July. Part of this has had me going through several X-Rays, MRI’s and approximately 3 fucktillion examinations. Just yesterday I went to the orthopedic surgeon for a follow up and a cortisone shot (this time for my shoulder because I’m old, dusty and falling apart).

These examinations typically have 2 flavors of embarrassing:

wearing the ass-out gowns

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wearing giant blue shorts

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Fortunately, this orthopedic surgeon opts for the less uncomfortable shorts, but it makes up for the lessening embarrassment by having a female assistant in the room during the examination. Trust me, no matter how cool you feel before changing into the shorts, you won’t feel the same during or after.

I already know the routine well: the assistant hands me the shorts, walks out and closes the door behind her. I change and when I’m done I crack the door open to notify them that it’s “safe” to enter without them checking out my drawers or releasing The Kraken.

Today my mind was a bit distracted by the pain in my knees and shoulder. I was tired from work and a bit anxious knowing I would be getting an unpleasant cortisone shot (spoiler: any procedure that requires you to be numbed first is guaranteed to suck brontosaurus nuts).

The assistant handed me the shorts and left the room. I began to change and although I became distracted by taking the time to update my social media, something was nagging at me. Something was wrong. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my spider-sense was tingling with the subtlety of Bengay on the scrotum. I assumed it was nerves of the impending shot and cracked the door open.

I used the step stool to sit on the examination bed as the doctor and his assistant walked in and took a seat in front of me. They seemed to be particularly concentrated as they were purposely making deep eye contact with me. I squirmed a bit and shifted my leg’s positions while the doctor asked questions as we continued to seemingly play the staring game.

I stopped moving my legs. I froze and it finally dawned on me. I had been given either the wrong shorts or broken ones. See, these shorts didn’t have the seams in between the legs. For all intents and purposes I was wearing a little blue skirt and flashing the doctor and his young assistant. They were too polite to say anything, but had forced themselves to avert their eyes by making non-stop eye contact with me.

The rest of the examination was a blur. My mind wandered to more important places. What underwear had I worn this morning? Thank goodness i wore underwear. How bad is the trauma I caused the young assistant and will she ever be able to see a man as attractive again?

I eventually put clothes back on and wondered if they would consider paying me my co-pay since I had provided them with a free show. I thought better of it and didn’t ask. I made a mental note to buy new underwear.

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