I donned my best underwear for a trip to the dermatologist
AFTER THE RELIEF OF NOT HAVING TO DISROBE IN FRONT OF HIM WORE OFF, I COULDN’T HELP THINKING IT HAD BEEN A WASTE OF GOOD UNDERWEAR
THERE comes a time in everyone’s life when it’s no longer so much fun to take your clothes off! Let’s face it, when you hit 40 very few of us look good letting it all hang out. Being naked is often not a pretty sight. And certainly not a sight you’d want anyone else to see, unless we are talking about a situation involving conjugal rights or life and death!
I had to visit the dermatologist the other day. Nothing major, just a dodgy mark on my face. You would think this wouldn’t involve anything more than him examining my gob with a magnifying glass and one of those miner’s helmets with a light on top.
That’s how I got caught out the last time. I went for a simple examination of a facial blemish and ended up having to strip down to my undies. Unmatching, old greying undies at that. I was mortified. Apparently my doctor is a very thorough medical professional and wanted to make sure there was no other dodgy marks anywhere on my person and so examined me top to toe. Literally.
I wasn’t going to get caught this time. I donned my best bra and knickers, normally saved for special occasions (Christmas and Anniversaries!), shaved my legs, moisturised as much of me as I could reach and painted my toenails. I was practically first date standard.
Then he opened the door to his rooms and invited me in with a big smile. Don’t get me wrong, he is a lovely man but the thoughts of having to take my clothes off to be scrutinised, appealed to me about as much as giving up wine for Lent.
“Here, let me take your coat and scarf,” he said. I sat poker-faced. “No thank you,” I replied, clutching my handbag to my chest, as if he was going to rob it. He looked a bit surprised but said nothing further.
Off he went, reading through my medical history, which actually took some time as there’s always something wrong with me. Then he sat back and smiled. “So Justine, are we doing an examination from the neck up today or shall we do a full body check?”
“Oh the neck up” I replied enthusiastically. Thank you Jesus, thank you! “Are you sure you don’t want me to check the rest of you out? I see here you have a mole on your stomach and your right thigh.”
“No, no, no. they’re grand. Everything’s grand. The neck up will be fine!” As I say it, I can’t help wondering when did this newfound modesty kick in? There was a time in my twenties when the boobs and legs came out every Saturday night and my mother would roll her eyes as I walked out the door.
True to his word he examined me from the neck up and sent me on my merry way. But after the relief of not having to disrobe in front of him wore off, I couldn’t help thinking it had been a waste of my good underwear.
Sure I suppose there’s always Christmas!