Late at night and I was trying to clear the back log of patients from the list as my colleagues seemed set on spending most of their time talking about the Christmas party...when they weren't taking turns to go outside to smoke.
"What's this one ?", I asked Mrs Challiot, the triage nurse as I picked the next admission form out of the in-tray.
"is it a quickie, or something that needs an x-ray?"
Uhmmm...she peered at the form...oh no...you can't see her...
"Why not?"
Well I think she needs to see a female nurse...
"Uh huh...why?"
Well...shes walking funny...and I think she has a Botticelli thingy...
"What exactly is a 'Botticelli thingy' ?"
You know...that abscess that women get ...
...and then she pointed at the ground and whispered...
...down there...
"What...her feet?"
(And the Oscar for Best Devils Advocate goes to...)
No...
...again in a whisper...
...her 'lady parts'...
Now look , in one guise or another I've probably seen more than my fair share of "lady parts"...
...and to be fair, I've never seen 'lady parts' that I didn't like...
...personally that is...
...those I have had to see professionally tend to just make me remain a vegetarian...
...but even in a drunken lustful state , I am unlikely ever to describe them as like anything painted by Botticelli.
A bag of chopped liver maybe.
A toasted ham-and-cheese sandwich maybe.
A tuna fish-mayo wrap maybe.
A chill tamale maybe.
But not an oil painting.
*sigh*
"Do you mean a Bartholin's cyst?"
Oh...yes...that's what I mean.
"Pass"
And of course the ever popular "badly wrapped kebab".
ReplyDelete