"i know you have a different priority to focus on for the next 5 minutes, but i just took my shoes off, and i'm so sorry, but my feet really smell".
it's hard to break the ice with the professional who will be poking around in your tropic of capricorn, and the 10-15 minutes spent sitting and waiting on a piece of medical baking parchment provides a wonderful opportunity to notice all of the other things that will now be scrutinized from a different angle. or just a time to reflect on my own standards of personal hygiene and the fact that i probably should have at least removed the last few chippings of toenail polish/pumiced off the calluses/not (repeatedly) picked at the bug bite on my ankle, which now looks purple and somewhat necrotic/shaved my legs in even lawn stripes (versus the hacked up weedwacker stubble).
i considered (for about 3 seconds), whipping out a cellphone to tell her i just wanted to tweet from the twat doctor's, but i also really wanted to ask if many people had farted in her face. instead, i just haemorrhaged from the mouth.
"those scabs that look like rug burn- i fell down on a trail run yesterday. and err, those bruises on my calves are from bike pedals. and uhm, you're going to see some really odd looking chafing, but that's from a 17 mile run i did last weekend".
and after running the baby belly gauntlet in the waiting room to the exit, she gave me absolution for another year.