I went to the doctor last Monday, and it was the first time my butt hole was…examined by a doctor. I would use the word “touched” but…that just sounds…wrong? The doctor touched my butthole? This somewhat-taller-than-me-average-physique-but-could-still-probably-out-lift-me-middle-aged-black-man grabbed a pair of latex gloves, had me bend over the little chair thingy, pried my butt cheeks open with his thumb while rubbing my donuthole with his index finger, and examined my butt hole.
It all started when he asked “what else is going on?”
It’s on the fucking file. You’re staring right at it!
“My butt hole itches.”
He looked up from my file, we made eye contact, and we both knew what was about to happen. I felt like I was about to have sex with this dude. When he was checking my bunghole, I pulled my boxers down just enough for him to get some because I felt like taking my pants completely off would be a bit overkill. After thinking about it, and I don’t know why…but it feels like taking the pants completely off is more masculine than straight up sliding them down like a fuckin’…Tommy Hilfiger underwear model, and bending over the table like I’m about to be spanked in a gay porno.
During the examination, the entire time, I couldn’t help but think of how pissed I was gonna be if one of those Hispanic nurses walked in as it was happening. I was already on edge from waiting in the waiting room. It felt like a sauna. By the time they called my name, I had boob sweat and the 300 pound NRA member sitting across from me was out-heavy breathing me.
I swear to God…if I hear that door open behind me…
The back of my mind was trying to stay calm, but this other dark side of me was expecting to feel the dude’s tongue on my butt hole. I just had that feeling like that finger he was poking my butt hole with was gonna turn into this slimy thing, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing I could do about it.
The funny thing is that…I’m not even exaggerating. I was listening for the door to open, and I was expecting the doctor to tongue punch my fart box. I probably wouldn’t have had the balls to do anything about it, but I’d passive aggressively leave a bad review like the white person I am.
Alas…none of that happened. HOWEVER, after everything was over and discussed, I was dismissed, only to find another patient outside the door.
The doctor gave me the bird’s and bee’s about health. I knew he was going to when he asked me about my height: he looked up at a giant chart, moved his finger slowly up until he found out that I’m morbidly obese.
We briefly talked about ways to eat more healthier, because it really does seem like no one has any idea on what they’re talking about. It seems like no one can give you a direct answer to a health question without following with some kind of bullshit.
Apples. They’re good, right? It’s fruit. It contains some nutrition. Ah…but if you eat too much of them, it’s a lot of sugar. So eating a lot of healthy food becomes bad? That means eating a lot of bad food is…really bad? Then people start talking about excessive eating. For the sake of my sanity, can we just agree that apples are healthy? Even if I eat a lot of apples, the nutrition value of an apple hasn’t changed which would mean that, yes…apples are healthy regardless of whether you over consume or under consume. If I asked you the effect it would have on my body, THEN it would be reasonable to explain how and why it may negatively impact my health more than it would positively impact my health.
What also bugs me is when people try and tell me how to do my job. Don’t get me wrong…I’m open to suggestions, all right? I know that I don’t know everything there is to know about what I do. However, when someone tells me that X isn’t going to work or Y isn’t going to work, it’s just another reason for me to attempt anyways just so I can have the satisfaction of proving you wrong. In my line of business, I can’t just do what other people say and not question it. How can I do my job better if I don’t figure out different ways of doing things? Maybe some people are right when they say that “X isn’t going to work,” but sometimes people need to learn for themselves. Over the past couple of years, I’ve learned that if what I’m doing feels easy, then I’m not really challenging myself. Challenging myself and pushing myself to go out my comfort zone gives me that feeling of accomplishment; it gives me something to be proud of.
It’s nice to know that I’m capable of more.
When my doctor says I need to watch what I eat, he’s right. I know that I’m capable of more because I challenge myself at work everyday. And if I feel like I’m comfortable, then that’s just another way of me saying that I need to learn something else. So I really need to rethink my life in regards to my health. A big aspect of those thoughts stem from when my dad died last year from health complications. It’s why I’ve been listening to his favorite music lately. On repeat, I’ve been listening to this song called “The River Runs Slow” by Sonia Dada.
Life comes fast.
Not to justify my laziness, but part of the reason why I don’t do things, why I put the burden on my girlfriend, is because it breathes life into my blackened heart. This woman, who could get angry at me for forgetting to do the dishes, putting the toilet seat down, is always willing to pick up my slack. She makes me feel like, if she could, she’d take away all the pain I’ve ever felt. It’s something that my mom used to say to my sister and I all the time.
I need that feeling in my life.
The feeling of anticipating a doctor to lick your butt hole is not so great; however, it’s a luxury I can afford. As awkward as it is, my 22 year old self appreciates it…because it’s something he avoided specifically because he didn’t know if he could afford it.
Maybe the voices in the backs of our heads giving us motivation to keep going is just our future selves speaking to us. If that’s the case…Brandon, everything is going to be okay. You’re going to be more than okay. Enjoy that cake, because you about to grow some big ol’ man boobs.
Still handsome, though.