Dove marched into the living room recently, her new toy doctor bag in hand, and asked sternly, “Who is feeling sick in here?”
Gary naively offered himself up by telling her, “I don’t feel so good, doctor.”
Dove wandered closer to him, gave him a quick once-over, and announced, “You need fourteen shots.”
Gary of course protested, but Dr. Dove would hear none of it. She climbed authoritatively onto his lap with her doctor bag, pulled out the toy needle, and stabbed it swiftly into his arm (the fact that the needle is a toy and will not, in fact, actually penetrate human flesh is a tiny matter that has been lost on her).
Thinking quickly, Gary grabbed one of the kids’ toy cell phones, pretended to call me, and begged me to come save him from the crazy doctor forcing him to take shots against his will. When I arrived to save the day, demanding to know what was going on, Dr. Dove turned wordlessly to me, reached out, and pretended her own toy cell phone was a taser…and tased me.
What else could I do? I fell onto the floor into a crumpled heap, wondering what the medical world has come to.
Later, when I recovered and was now sitting in the examining room (also known as our sofa), Dr. Dove told me, “You have black stuff in your ears.”
“How do I get rid of it?”
“You need fourteen shots.”
That remedy sounded familiar. I told her I wanted a second opinion.