She’s furious as she browses through a magazine about the elderly, ripping the pages from the staples she’s turning them so hard. You try to make a move.
“I’m going blind. You?”
She looks up from her magazine.
“It won’t work,” she says.
“I’d make it work,” you say.
She tosses her magazine at you then picks up another one. The nurse calls you into the examination room.
“What’s her story?” you ask the doctor. “The angry redhead. I want to spend my last sighted months staring at that face.”
“Oh her, she’s terminal. Six months tops.”
You’re pissed. She’s dying and she thinks you’re not good enough just because you’re going blind? You’re in way better shape than her.
“What the fuck?” you shout at her when you go back out to the waiting room.
“Maybe I don’t want to spend my last six months on earth making some blind guy hold hot meatballs so he knows what the color red is,” she barks.
“That’s only for people who were born blind. You’d just have to deal with me cursing God for taking my eyes.”
“I curse God,” she says. “I threaten him, sometimes. Telling him how I’m going to fuck him up in six months if he doesn’t have a good reason for taking my life.”
“Maybe you could fuck him up some for taking my eyes,” you say.
“Why should I?” she asks.
“Because I’ll be there by your deathbed, whispering into your ear to do that for me. It’ll be the last thing you remember as you pass over. My voice.”
She considers it. Then, “Sorry. I’m gonna be real weak in the final months. I need someone to carry my bedpans to the toilet without spilling them. You gotta have eyes.”
She’s summoned into the examination room. You leave the doctor’s office, fall to your knees in the parking lot and shake your fist at Jesus for being so jealous of you that he had to take away your eyes to make sure you don't get the action you deserve.
Happy Ask Your Doctor About The Redhead In The Waiting Room Day!