Knuckles gently tap on the door and a woman's voice asks, "May I come in?"

"Yes," I call.

Ms. Bubbles playfully creeps into the room with a paper cup and small stack of magazines. "Sorry for the wait. Sometimes I think our pharmacy delivers these meds from Costa Rica--on the backs of sloths." I chuckle at her comment, but my mind is too distracted to form a response. My itchiness has gotten to the point of no return. Squirming and wiggling, I scratch without hesitation or modesty.

"A flight of stairs," Bubbles mumbles. "They only have to travel up a measly flight of stairs."

"I'm just glad you're here now," I respond. "I. Love. My. Drug dealer."

With a giggle, Ms. Bubbles positions a nearby tray-on-wheels over my bed and places the magazines and paper cup on top. Stepping to the sink, she fills another paper cup with water.

"Aight." In a shady voice, Bubbles says, "The Diphenhydramine and Loratadine are straight from the streets of Seattle's 3rd Ave'. This dope should make 'ya feel a whole lot better, baby."

"Come to mama!" I exhale a sigh of relief. "Gotta be good drugs with names like that."

Ms. Bubbles laughs. "Right? When my four-year-old writes a long string of random letters on paper, I often think to myself, that looks ridiculous enough to be the name for a new medication." Bubbles places the cup of water on the tray next to the two pills. "For the laymen, though, Diphenhydramine is an antihistamine. Loratadine is--Claritin."

The muscles in my face drop like a basset hound's. It's official--I'm THAT woman. I'm the person lame enough to drive herself to the emergency room for some Baby Tylenol and a hug. A Claritin? My inner voice screams inside my head. You drove to Urgent Care for a cup of water and a fucking--CLARITIN!

Still in a state of disbelief, I tip the medication out of the paper cup into the palm of my hand, only to be slapped across the face once more. Etched in the chalky surface of the white tablet, the letters C - L - A - R - I - T - I - N glare back at me like a piercing neon light.

Soaked in humiliation, I say, "Well now I feel stupid."

"Why?"

"Claritin?" I hold my hand out to Bubbles as though I'm offering her a mint. "I must look like an idiot for coming to Urgent Care for over-the-counter medication!"

"Honey, please," Bubbles responds, waving me off with her hand. "You wouldn't believe the number of patients rushed in here convinced an internal organ has exploded--only to discover a giant turd is stuck in their system."

I press my lips together trying to hold back a laugh, but end up blowing some disgusting sound that sort of sounds like an airy giggle out my nose. "Mostly men, I'm guessing?"

"Mmm hmm," Bubbles hums. "We can thank women for our existence. Humans would've been extinct thousands of years ago if men were in charge of having babies." Placing a hand on my shoulder she adds, "So don't be embarrassed, baby. Allergic reactions are scary as hell if you've never had one before--as are trapped turds."

It's as though her touch sucks my fears of being weak and pathetic right out of me. I exhale a sigh of relief and toss the meds into my mouth--washing them down with water containing a hint of paper cup aftertaste.

"So you have a four-year-old?" I ask.

"I do. And--OH BOY--he has a lot of energy!"

"I'm a preschool teacher. Try having 20."

Bubbles' jaw drops open. She shakes her head at me as though she's awestruck. "How do you do it? I would go insane."

"Sugar. Lots of sugar."

"Do you work around here?"

"Capital Hill."

"Yeah? My son goes to a Catholic school in the south end."

"Oh!" I make the sign of the cross, then point towards the doorway. "I saw you do that earlier with the nurse and the respiratory specialist."

"No! You weren't supposed to see that."

"I'm a preschool teacher. I have eyes in the back of my head." I pause for a beat then add, "So what's up with those two?"

"You felt the tension?" Bubbles asks.

"Felt it? I could--." I glance around the room for a knife-like object. Unfortunately, the only item in the room sort of resembling cutlery is a tongue depressor. "I could cut it with that really big popsicle stick over there."

Bubbles giggles. "You're definitely a preschool teacher."

"Did they date?" I ask.

Glancing around the room as though checking to make sure no one is hiding in the corners, she says, "It's not exactly professional to gossip with the patients, but I feel like you and I sort of have a--connection."

"Yes," I agree, nodding my head furiously.

"'Cause you saw-no potential gossip when I--." Bubbles quickly makes another sign of the cross then whispers, "was praying for my favorite nurse."

I stare at Bubbles hoping for guidance as to how she wants me to respond. Ever so subtly, she shakes her head and forms a silent no on her lips. I mirror her exact movements and respond, "No."

"And you'll hear-no gossip coming from these lips, right?" she questions.

"Nope," I reply, still shaking my head from side to side.

"'Cause you know I speak-no gossip in front of patients."

"You don't," I agree. "If anyone should ever ask me how I found out, I would simply say I'm a keen observer."

There is hesitation in Bubbles' eyes. It appears she wants to tell me, but isn't quite convinced I can be trusted. Slowly, I pull down one side of my underwear over my hip to reveal the bright red hives. "The hips don't lie, but I'd pass a polygraph test if questioned. I can lie like a Photoshopped Kardashian selfie."

A grin spreads across the width of Bubbles' face. "You know I will deny saying any of this."

"Any what?" I stare at her with a sassy raised eyebrow.

Convinced by my vow to keep a secret, Bubbles sits on the edge of my bed. Taking a moment to suppress a giggle, she finally says, "Let's just say respiratory cases like yours add some soap opera drama to our Urgent Care."

"Like wide eyed, eating popcorn drama?"

"More like wide eyed, served in a punch bowl, extra buttery, movie popcorn drama."

With legs crossed and hands in my lap--just like a preschooler during story time--I say, "I've got my listening ears on."

Bubbles quickly glances once more over her shoulder at the door before moving in close to whisper, "If my favorite nurse is the rooster and the respiratory specialist is the hen--."

"Yeah," I utter, confirming I'm picking up what she's laying down.

"Well--while the rooster was away, a silver fox stopped by and raided the hen house."

Are you kidding me, I think to myself. Bubbles and I could be twins! Not only do we have the same taste in hospital gown fashion, but we have similar pet names for people, too!

"So this silver fox you speak of," I ask. "Would this hen house raiding fox happen to be a surgeon?"

"Girl!" Bubbles drawls out. "You have some amazing intuition."

"I knew it!" I exclaim with a hushed voice. "I knew it was a nasty love triangle."

"Well," Bubbles begins. "Geometrically, it isn't quite a triangle."

"What do you mean?"

"There's also a vixen."

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

I went through all that stress and worry for a--CLARITIN. However, it should be noted I needed to return to my doctor's office the next day for something much stronger. [Strokes ego]

MUSIC: Macklemore. Drug Dealer. Okay, maybe I'm being a bit biased since this is the second Seattle brother chosen for theme music (Sir Mix-a-Lot was the first). Merely adding an Emerald City vibe to the story!

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

MarilynHepburn.com