I park the Honda and navigate my way to the Urgent Care lobby where a middle-aged woman sits behind a desk. She appears to be a friendly lady with a big round face and tiny spectacles as she busies herself with some sort of paperwork. I approach her work station with a cheerful grin.

"Hi. Is this Urgent Care?"

She looks up and returns my greeting with a smile. "It is. How may I help you?"

"I sort of have this rash thing growing on my body. I'd usually just tough something like this out, but the itching has gotten pretty much unbearable. And my breathing is a bit off. So that's why I'm here."

The receptionist peers accusingly over her spectacles and asks, "So you drove yourself here?"

I'm like:

Okay, I see where you're going with this you—mean lizard, I think to myself. Clearly my situation must not be "that bad of an emergency" if I'm still able to brake and use a turn signal. I pause for a moment and look at the receptionist defensively. I shall call you Receptosaurus.

"Yes," I answer. "I called the 24 Hour Consulting Nurse before coming, and she's the one who recommended Urgent Care. Honestly, I was reluctant to even come. I'm definitely NOT the type of person who runs to the emergency room for a Claritin and a pat on the shoulder. But these hives are starting to freak me out a bit."

Receptosaurus nods, clearly not convinced that my emergency is all that urgent. I feel misunderstood. So like a competitive asshole that doesn't like to lose, I'm compelled to force Receptosaurus into understanding that I truly am in dire straits. And naturally, I intend to do it as graphically as possible.

I put my hand on the desk and lean in a bit closer so Receptosaurus can hear my lowered voice. "Do you remember that crazy guy in Silence of the Lambs who wanted to make a suit out of human skin?" Receptosaurus nods. I can't quite tell if she's interested in what I have to say or discretely trying to reach for a button under the desk to notify security. "Well—my skin itches so bad right now, I'd offer myself up as tribute. I'd voluntarily hand my skin over to the Silence of the Lamb's guy and let him stitch my flesh into a 1970's leisure suit. It could be his Saturday Night Hives disco-ballin' outfit."

Receptosaurus breaks into a fit of giggles. "It's that bad?"

"It is," I assure her. "I'd show you, but I don't want to get arrested for indecent exposure."

Her demeanor changes. Instead of a mean lizard, Receptosaurus morphs back into the happy purple dinosaur I originally pegged her has. She asks me a few more questions and slaps a plastic red bracelet around my wrist. I can't remember why the bracelet is red, but it's a warning of some sort to the nurses and doctors—probably warning them I'm a tad mentally unstable.

I sit down in the empty lobby next to a gigantic fish tank and stare at the tropical wonders. Stripes. Spots. Yellows. Oranges. Oooo! I found you Nemo, I chuckle silently to myself. Oh! And there's Dory! I found both of you!

[sings] Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming
Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

I pretend as though I'm chair dancing as I sing the Disney song, but in reality I'm just trying to concoct as many creative ways as possible to scratch my ass without actually scratching my ass. Desperation is starting to set in. I'm scared to death of needles—butt at this point (see what I did there?)—I'd gladly bend over and let someone stick me in the ass for a little relief.

That didn't sound right. I should probably rephrase that last sentence.

Somewhere mid-wiggle—on my 40th or 50th round of the Just Keep Swimming song—an older woman with a tiny frame steps out of a small office connected to the lobby and calls my name.

"That's me," I confirm, raising my hand.

She waves for me to follow her. "This way."

I stand up, use a magician quick hand to pull out the underwear which has shimmied up my crack due to chair dancing, and follow the Urgent Care staffer into the side office. Sitting down in an empty chair, I wait patiently as a patient while she logs into her computer.

"So how are you feeling this evening?" she asks.

"I'm not gonna to lie—I've been better."

The nurse or technician or assistant or whatnot laughs. "And why's this not one of your better evenings?"

"Some sort of hives or rash is slowly spreading across my body." I pull down the top of my pants below the hip bone to give her a sneak peek. "I think it might be an allergic reaction, but I have no idea what I could possibly be allergic to. Except bug bites. I'm mild to moderately allergic to bug bites. But something like this has never happened before."

"Ouch," she remarks in a nurturing tone. "That looks uncomfortable."

I nod. "I'm usually really good about not being a wimp with this sort of stuff, but the itching is unbearable. I'm afraid I'll soon be losing my mind more than I've already lost it."

She types frantically into the computer before pausing to ask me another question. "And you drove yourself here?"

Jesus H Christ, I scream inside my mind—discretely raising my left arm up to scratch my scalp so Ms. Whatnot will notice I'm wearing a red plastic bracelet on my wrist instead of a white one. Should I just start with the Hannibal story so to make my situation seem a bit more—urgent?

"Prior to coming in, I called the 24 Hour Consulting Nurse," I explain. "She's the one who recommended I come see you. The consulting nurse seemed to be worried that my breathing was more labored than usual."

"So you've also noticed a change in your breathing?"

I nod. Ms. Whatnot again starts typing furiously on the keyboard. That's when she notices the date.

"Oh! Yesterday was your birthday." She looks at me and smiles. "Happy belated birthday."

"Thank you." I adjust in the chair to activate some butt rubbing relief. "Talk about getting a birthday gift I can't return. Mother Nature used to be generous with her gift giving. Then sometime around my 40th birthday, she started handing out gag gifts. Mother Nature was like, 'Here's a beard and butt hives. Happy F—F—F—"

Pull it back! I scold myself from within. Pull the F-word back! These are professionals. No F-bombing in hospitals!

"F—F—Fortieth Birthday!'"

Ms. Whatnot starts laughing. "Oh honey, wait till you turn 60 like me. You should see the gifts Mother Nature leaves on my doorstep!"

"Better than lady beards and butt hives?" I question. She nods, returning her attention back to the computer—her chest still bouncing from giggles. "Well, shucks. I can't wait."

Ms. Whatnot finishes up the pre-exam by checking my blood pressure and pulse. Both are normal. She also slaps that thingy on my finger to monitor oxygen levels or something like that. In any case, whatever Ms. Whatnot was observing on my finger is also normal. It appears that aside from the wave of flesh eating redness on my skin and mild breathing difficulties—I'm normal. Well—normal for me.

"I think we're done here. Was there any other symptoms you noticed? Anything else I should add to the report?"

I shake my head. "Nope. I think that's it."

Ms. Whatnot leads me back to the lobby where I return to the seat next to Nemo and Dory. I'm half tempted to sneak off somewhere private so I can give myself a proper all-body fingernail massage, but I remain in place in case my name is called sooner than later. Hopefully it's sooner. I'm running out of creative ways to touch myself in public.

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

True story: I use humor to get out of uncomfortable situations. Receptosaurus and Ms Whatnot gave me a moment or two of awkwardness, but humor prevailed. Two points for me!

MUSIC: The Cars. "You can't go on thinking nothing's wrong. Who's gonna drive you home tonight?" This is a good question to ask myself at this point in the story.

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