Humor
My Hot and Sticky Incident in Front of Two Men
I’m not sure they appreciated it
A bead of sweat ran down my forehead. My hair stuck to the back of my neck and I fanned my face with my hand.
It was hot as balls.
It was August in North Carolina and I had been pregnant for about seven years. With a week to go until my due date, I sat in my doctor’s office counting down the days until my weekly weigh-ins would stop and I could eat a dozen donuts.
Damn those lying scales.
The building’s air conditioning was broken and the exam room I sat in was not a suitable temperature for a British woman with a hatred for the human race.
And a hatred for bastard birds who sang their tits off right outside the window.
One of the nurses had brought me into the exam room and told me to undress from the waist down and sit on the exam table to wait for the doctor. Then he had buggered off and left me in the fiery pit of hell.
At least I was a smoke show. In one way or another.
I did as I was told, then waited. After twenty minutes of trying to be mature enough not to laugh at the posters on the wall, the heat became unbearable and I shuffled on the table.
