As for hospitals barring health workers from wearing scrubs outside the hospital?

Please.

Do you have any idea how many male residents and orderlies get laid by pretending they’re doctors? I’ve always been a decent-looking guy, but when I used to walk down the street I was virtually invisible to women until I donned my surgical scrubs.

With scrubs, getting laid was easier than slipping cash to a preacher.

As long as female health workers are proud of their profession, as long as male health workers seek to be laid, they’re going to wear scrubs in public every chance they get.

Why did I stop wearing mine?

I met a young lady.

A country girl from Kentucky, named Trudy Lake.

3.

TRUDY’S TWENTY-ONE.

Almost twenty-one.

And I’m forty.

Approximately.

Trudy has some family baggage.

Her father’s on trial for drug trafficking and first degree murder. Not only that, but he disapproves of our relationship to the point he tried to hang me to death!

Trudy’s sister, Renee, also tried to kill me. Had she succeeded, I would have been her fifth murder victim. Trudy wasn’t aware her sister has a giant, orange, heart-shaped bush in her panties, and wasn’t thrilled to learn about it from me. But one thing about Trudy: she’s a very forgiving young lady, which is one of the reasons I asked her to come to Manhattan and move in with me. While I’m convinced she cares for me, her decision to move here may have been influenced in part by the $10,000 a month I contractually agreed to pay her for the next two years.

Additional family baggage for Trudy includes a history of drug dealing, larceny, petty theft, grand theft, assault, extortion, blackmail, kidnapping, money-laundering, witness-tampering, necrophilia, and bestiality—and that’s just naming a few.

But one of the biggest obstacles to our budding romance is Trudy’s husband.

It’s okay, we’re working it out.

She’s filed for divorce, and it’s just a matter of time before everything’s resolved. The holdup is Darrell. You see, Darrell—the man she’s married to—happens to be her brother.

It’s not as bad as it sounds.

Trudy didn’t know Darrell was her brother at the time they got married.

She thought he was her cousin.

Don’t judge. We’ve all been there, haven’t we? What’s important is we found each other and we’re in love. At least I am, and thought Trudy was, too, till this morning. But then she—

Wait. My phone’s ringing.

It’s Trudy. Hang on.

“Where are you?” I ask.

“Home. I mean, your place. Where are you?”

“At the hospital. I had to perform an emergency surgery.”

“How’d it go?”

“Really well, actually.”

“Really? ’Cause you sound depressed.”

“I thought you left me.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“I went for a run in the park.”

“Without telling me?”

“I tried to. But you were in the bathroom a long time.”

“You should’ve hollered to say you were leaving.”

“I hollered a bunch of times! But you couldn’t hear me, for practicin’ your duck calls. You’re gettin’ better, by the way. Your mallard is near perfect!”

“Those weren’t duck calls.”

“Oh. Well, I’m not sure how to respond to that. But if you saved a child’s life today, we should celebrate.”

“With sex?”

She pauses.