Mary (aka Undercover Mother) and I were chatting about her impending trip to the eye doctor this week. As it turns out, we go to the same one. We'll call him, Dr. Evans** I've been going to Dr. Evans for eye exams since I was a wee little redhead.
Mary confessed that for this week's appointment, she's opted to go with Dr. Evan's daughter who is a newly minted eye doctor. "Instead of going to see the nut rubber."
"The who what now?" I asked.
She said it again, without trying to laugh. "The nut rubber."
Picture it: You're sitting in the eye examination chair thingy. Dr. Evans is seated (legs open) in his wheely chair, and comes toward you to begin the exam. Granted, we're dealing with eyes here so a doctor does need to get close. And before you know it, his nuts rub against your knee. And I don't mean bag of peanuts...
At first, you think, did that JUST happen? A drive-by scrotum sack swish? You try to put it out of your mind. Clearly you imagined it. But then you come to the realization that you've had less bodily contact with lap dancers.
Mary has even attempted to out smart the good doctor. She's tried to cross her legs (he asked her to uncross them), and tried to use her purse as a knee/nut guard (he put her purse on the floor). And per usual, she was groin grazed.
And here I thought it was just me. Turns out Dr. Evans doesn't discriminate between the sexes, he's an equal opportunity nut nuzzler. He's given Mary's son, Brad, the ball brush, in addition to her daughter Bridget. The more Mary and I talked (and laughed because the whole sorted scrotum scenario is as funny as it is bizarre) we discovered it's also happened to our coworker Aaron (who was oblivious to Dr. Evans' beat with his south of the border bongos).
And here's the quandary. My next eye appointment is in January. Should I go to Dr. Evans and blow the whistle on his testicle two-step? Or should I let sleeping dogs lie, and just switch to his lack-of-sack daughter?
**Definitely not his real name, what am I crazy?