Do you ever head to the doctors and exit your appointment even more confused than when you entered?
Well, take The Cockney; he’s middle-aged, in good general health, but like many of us, concerned about our aging issues and how best to maintain a good standard of healthy living. Gone are the days where there’s nothing we can do about our high blood pressure or rising cholesterol; there’s a medicinal or natural solution to most situations and given The Cockney’s obsession with staying fit, active and healthy, he goes regularly to the doctor in search of it.
Last night we were seated at dinner (our weekly romantic date) and discussing his latest visit with his general practitioner. I know, not exactly scintillating stuff, but I have to tell you he made me laugh so hard I almost spat my drink clear across the room.
Picture this; I sat sipping on my lemon, lime and bitters, pretending to be interested in his latest results for his cholesterol and dietary requirements when he tells me the doctor sent him for blood test and sample collection. Naturally I started to listen, as taking blood sounds semi-serious to those of us that generally run right past those clinics in a bid to ignore whatever health concerns can’t be diagnosed without peeing in a cup.
Anyway, next thing I know he explains that the doctor hands him a cup and says, ‘I need a sample’.
My dear, sweet Cockney glanced at the little plastic cup and yellow lid and failed to ask the most paramount question of all: ‘What sort of sample?’ And thus, he headed off to the bathroom, clueless, but determined not to fail in this medical mission.
With baited breath I sat waiting for the punchline. When I asked him exactly what he’d filled the cup with, his response had been, ‘Well, I went with what I needed to do most, so went with that.’
Drink now expelled from my lips and my laughter shaking the very foundations of the restaurant we sat in, I explained that he probably just wanted a urine sample.
‘Oh,’ The Cockney answered. ‘Well I guess that explains the look on his face when I handed back a full jar of my poo.’