Remember a couple weeks ago, I went on a date with a tall, beautiful Icelandic woman? The same woman who happens to be my new boss at the hospital? Well, the cocks have come home to roost.
You see, in my long history of dating, I have developed a few rules that govern my interaction with the fair sex. One of the rules is to never ask, “What do you bring to the table?”
I mean, you’re looking for intimacy, not negotiating world peace. Another rule is, “Netflix and chill actually means Netflix first.” You don’t invite a date over for a movie only to turn on National Geographic’s ‘Mating Week’ and expect anything later.
But while these simple rules make sure your partner removes more than the overcoat she left at the door, there are some cardinal policies that are vital for everyday survival. Like, not dating your co-workers, especially not anyone who out-ranks you. Now I find myself in that exact quandary.
I’ve just ended a consultation with one of my regular elderly patients, and she’s at the door about to leave.
“Thank you, doctor,” she says, pleasure glinting in her eyes. “You make me feel like I could live to be a hundred and fifty.”
“Let’s not overshoot,” I say, matching her
smile. “If we can make it to 130, I’d be very pleased.”
As she walks out laughing, she trades places with Helga Annadóttir, my new boss. “Well, well, well,” Helga says as she watches the patient leave. “If I hadn’t experienced your bedside manner first-hand, I’d wonder what’s up with her huge smile.”
“About that,” I say, rising to meet her. “Given
our situation here at work, I thought we should—”
She kicks the door shut with one nine-inch stiletto, catwalks to me in two (Dear Lord!) sensual steps, and casually throwing her arms around my neck, she pastes her crimson lips on my chapped ones, killing the sentence in my mouth.
For a brief glorious moment, the part of me that is all-man forgets the part that went to school for nearly eight years to become a doctor. Rationality flies out of the window and I could care less about cardinal rules of survival. In that instant, I am just a boy in the embrace of a beautiful girl, all logic and common sense be damned. I kiss my boss back as passionately as she does me.
The phone buzzes, ruining the moment.
I grab the receiver and mutter, “Yes?” I realise I sound as croaky as a toad. So, I clear my voice and try again. “Hello?”
It’s my nurse. “She’s here.”
In a panic, I squawk, “She? Who? There’s nobody here. What do you mean she’s here?”
“Mrs Kamau, doctor,” the nurse says calmly. “Your next appointment.”
“Oh! Mrs Kamau. Yes. Right. I’ll be ready for her in a moment.”
I turn around and Helga is inches from my face. “My office. One hour.”
Oh, boy! Am I in trouble.
