Another six month check up, where I only check for one thing: The ring on my doctor’s finger. He checks me out, but only for diseases. Whatever.
Ok, how tacky is this? They gave me a questionnaire about my sex life. “How often do you have sex?” “How often do want to have sex?” “Have you ever had sex with a minor?”
I can answer the first two easily. Actually, I answer “easy” because after doing the math, I realized I am.
Who the hell wrote this? I want to know, because if I answer it honestly I’m going to be arrested! I’ve had sex with a minor, but don’t get all bent outta shape, after all I was a minor, too. After having sex with a minor, I got picked up by the majors, baby! So really, by the standards of anyone at BS, I did great work.
What do they really want to know? Do they want to know if I’m some pedophile? If I recently went fooling around with some 16 year old that turned my crank? If I’m the reason that the Scouts suck, no pun intended?
So, me, the quiet and demure person that I am…
“Uh, excuse me,” I burst out in my big girl voice, “but did you really want to know if I’ve EVER slept with a minor, or recently, or what?” OK, she does not look pleased with me. Not at all.
“The questions are written to be answered how you feel about them.”
What? I sat down to “feel” about it. The doc called my name, wasn’t wearing a ring, took a needle and stuck my elbow. Bastard. He wants to know if I’ve slept with a minor. My answer: “Why? Ya huntin’ chicken?”