"I wonder how many asses have sat in this chair."
I hate waiting, but I detest waiting rooms. To help ease the discomfort, I entertain myself with questions and made up stories such as these. Just how many asses have sat in the same chair as my ass is now sitting? And just what kind of asses have they been? Plump or petite, toned or potato? Diaper covered toddler butts? Diaper covered dementia parents whose adult children are exhausted from elder care? Cellulite that has been angularly shaped by the drivers seat and truck stop/bus stop food from long haul driving? What about important derrieres, those business suit CFO and lawyerly types? Punk rock kiss my asses, Prim and proper I'd rather not think about the fact that I have an as at all? Stepford aerobic class tightened glutemus maximises, and the moons that debuted in homemade movies? Bodacious booties that bounce with confidence? Flat no-cushion types that are always covered and never coveted? Scholarly asses with sciatica pain from poor posture due to hours upon hours of lecture hall hard chairs and too many upright hours? Asses of kind people, loving, nice, warm, affectionate, folk. Asses of nasty mean jerks who think highly of themselves, misunderstood, but are really just, pardon the reference-- assholes.
Someone calls my name, and saves me from waiting, the waiting room, and the ponderance of all the asses. I follow through a door, step on a scale to find my numerical relationship with gravity, and follow yet again to room number three. The nurse takes my blood pressure, makes some notes, and hands me a gown.
"Go ahead and get undressed, and put this gown on. Have a seat on the exam table. The Doctor will be with you shortly, though we are running a bit behind today. It shouldn't be too long. There are magazines over there if you'd like." And they walk out.
I look down at the gown. I look over at the exam table. I see flimsy tissue paper that is practically translucent and think,
"I wonder how many asses have sat on that exam table."
~A
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