All alone

I challenged myself the other day! Nothing too precarious, you understand. I was waiting for a doctor and sat in the exam room with nothing between me and rank immodesty but a thin, cotton-poly exam gown the color of pea soup. The self-competition was to see how long I can sit in a room by myself without reading something.

There was a time I would rifled through the drawers in search of free alcohol wipes and tongue depressors, but why? I buy rubbing alcohol at The Tree, and it is not possible to depress my tongue, which is always busy saying something salacious or provocative, and never sad about it.

The big asterisk here * is that I did not need to be without something to read; my phone is a little Kindle and I have dozens of books on there just a couple of buttons away. My phone was in my pants pocket, at rest on a chair. But I decided it was going to be me against time. Nothing to read.

I started balancing my cane on the tip of my index finger. That was fun for 45-60 seconds, but I worried that they had some sort of monitor at the front desk and would see me raising cane with my malacca, so I quit it.

Then I figured, if they have a camera in here, where is it? So I looked high and low for a spycam and found nothing, unless the dispenser tip of the alcohol bottle is a cleverly disguised lens. 

Then I realized that spying on patients would be a huge impropriety for any doctor, and so I figured that nothing of the sort was going on. This notion was reinforced when I realized that I have never walked out of the exam room anywhere to hear the staff giggling and guffawing, so I know no one saw nothing they shouldn't have.

That means he never even told the receptionist that I said he ought to take me out for dinner and drinks before he checks me for a hernia. So I'm good.

My reverie ended when the doctor politely knocked before entering my exam room. And no, I could not resist going falsetto and asking, "Who is it?" 

You get me alone long enough and I can always crack myself up.