I glance around the examination room, then back at the two male figures standing in the doorway.

Seattle Grace? I wonder to myself. Did I drive to the Grey's Anatomy hospital?

The hospital on the television show, Grey's Anatomy, is technically a building along Seattle's skyline called Fisher Plaza—headquarters for a local TV and radio station. This fact prompts me to then question, Am I on a hidden camera show?

Nurse McSexy enters the room and introduces the surgeon he's spent the last half hour tracking down. "Sorry for the wait. This is Doctor SilverFox."

Doc Fox is an attractive older gentleman sporting dark brown locks graying at the temples. His thick eyebrows scrunch slightly together as he inhales deeply, expanding the width of his chest. Lifting his square jaw a tad higher than most, his hazel eyes peer down at me over his nose. I can't tell if SilverFox doesn't want to be here anymore because he's had a long day, or if he's one of those cocky types that considers himself God's right hand man. In either case, I shrivel beneath his gaze.

Even with my submissiveness in SilverFox's presence, my internal systems are feeling far more resilient than when McSexy first entered my examination room. It's as though immediately following the humiliation of brain failure due to handsome'itis, my body installed some sort of desirous protection program to ward off unwanted galscare malware. Despite functioning somewhere in the socially acceptable range, I can still feel my vocabulary shrinking to a repetitive Doctor Seuss level. Fox. Socks. Docs. Cocks. The Docs'es are foxes in socks'es with big—

SilverFox extends a palm for a shake, disrupting my naughty rhyming thought train. "Pleasure to meet you." I take the doctor's hand and nod like a grinning bobblehead doll. I'd reply to his pleasantries, but I'm conflicted. When lips seem unable to curve into a smile, like Doctor SilverFox's, the delightful sequence of words coming from them lack a genuine quality. Is he really pleased to meet me, or does he have to say that?

"What are your symptoms?" SilverFox asks.

Now I need to answer him. Unfortunately, I do so in a way that makes me sound like a drunk poet. "Hives. Thighs. Hives thrive on thighs."

"What?" SilverFox questions with a raised eyebrow—rubbing his ears as though he's having trouble with his hearing. He turns to McSexy. "What are the symptoms? Be BRIEF."

McSexy's eyebrows lower slightly at the harsh sound of SilverFox's demand, and remain stuck in this awkward in-between point on his face. It's as though there's an internal struggle happening inside McSexy's mind. Arms tightly locked across his chest, the handsome nurse appears defensive and threatened—a far cry from the breezy, confident hunk who rocked my world when he first entered the room.

"Hives on a good portion of her—." SilverFox turns his back to McSexy as he speaks, causing the nurse to stumble over his words.

"What?" SiverFox barks, spinning around to lock eyes with McSexy. "Be clear. Speak. SLOWLY. If. You. Must."

McSexy's hand with a pointed finger jerks up towards the surgeon, but pulls back en route to the final destination. SilverFox doesn't flinch—face motionless with eyes fixed on McSexy. The handsome nurse takes a deep breath as he lowers his chin downward—crossed arms secured across his chest once more. Eyes directed at me instead of the doctor he says, "Hives on a good portion of her body, but it's the labored breathing we're most concerned about."

"We're?" Doctor Fox questions. "You and who else? How many people have been called in here to ASSIST YOU with your assessment of this patient?"

"Me!" The word escapes my lips before my brain has time to catch up and think about what it wants to say. This tends to happen when my orneriness flares up due to anger. In this case, I can feel my maternal instincts kicking in, compelling me to stand up for the nurse being treated like an inferior. "I'm concerned about my breathing, just like he is." I nod at McSexy. "Therefore, we're is a perfectly acceptable pronoun-verb-contraction-combo-thing to use here."

SilverFox redirects his attention back towards me and forces a smile. "Then let's check your breathing."

Flipping the stethoscope over his perfectly styled hair, SilverFox secures the earbuds in place and positions himself close to my side so he can check the sounds of my breathing from several spots on my chest and back.

"Breathe deeply," Doc Fox instructs.

Thank goodness SilverFox is checking my breathing instead of my pulse. My heart is racing at the moment—and it's not because I think he's attractive. My heart is racing because I think this guy's an asshole.

Without looking at the nurse, SilverFox asks, "You checked her breathing?"

"Yes," McSexy replies, grinding his jaw as he stares at the floor.

"And you needed a second opinion?" Doc Fox questions.

"Since there was a possibility of—."

"Can I see the hives?" SilverFox interrupts, directing his question towards me.

I glance up at Nurse McSexy, rubbing his neck in what appears to be frustration. He nods at me, indicating I show the surgeon my skin. Why is SilverFox treating McSexy as though he's invisible? What the hell is going on here?

I slide off the hospital bed feeling more like a sideshow instead of the main attraction—which I'm totally fine with. Being a sideshow removes some of the embarrassment of having to flash my fat ass to an audience of studs. I mean—who cares about the matador flipping her hospital gown to reveal bull-ging, diaper-like granny panties when an epic battle between Hunk Smash and God Foxi is about to go down?

Lining my ass cannon up towards the medical stallions, I take a deep breath and pull the hospital gown to the side to reveal my granny panties in all their nasty glory. There you have it boys, I think to myself—sarcasm oozing through my veins. This is THE BOMB. I feel glad to be alive right now. I mean—is it even possible for life to get any better than this?

"As you can see," McSexy begins. But before he can finish, SilverFox extends his arm across McSexy's chest and edges the nurse backwards so he can get by.

"Just let me look," Doc Fox mumbles.

Without warning, everything in the room slows—as though in ultra-slow motion. I watch in horror as the man with a God complex approaches the outer limits of my personal space bubble with an outstretched hand.

Wait! As you can see—what? What does everyone think they're seeing?

My eyes are glued to the image of SilverFox's hand reaching for the leg hole of my mangled undies. In slow, synchronized unison—I turn my head towards the wall just as the doctor's fingers near my underwear's pathetic excuse for elastic. In the exact moment SilverFox's fingertips make contact with my cotton ass sack, my attention locks on to Queen Elizabeth's eyes in the portrait on the wall.

Like a painting in the halls of Hogwarts, I swear the old bat starts laughing at me as my undies slide across the surface of my hives infested butt. Yes, that's right. SilverFox has his finger in my underwear and—

The light in the room seems to dim.

SilverFox vocalizes his observations, but I can't understand what he's saying.

I think I'm dying, my mind gasps. Oh my Gawd, I think I'm dying of humiliation.

The room seems as though it's spinning a bit.

Sounds muffle. Smells disappear. Feelings numb.

--

This isn't fainting, it's dying. I'm dying of humiliation.

--

--

I think I just died.

--

--

--

I hope they bury me in sexy underwear.

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

He stuck his finger in my ugdies (ugly underwear). Oh. My. Gawd. The man's finger was in my underwear!

MUSIC: Wheelie. Who would've thought there was an inspirational underwear song on the internet? I know, I know--I'm a 10 year old, but the song is sort of amazing.

Your vote is truly McAppreciated! Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com

(This is a second edit chapter)