Sam and I are off to have blood tests. I guess that signals marriage, hey? Today. I went this morning, he's going at 4pm. It just seemed like too much for me for us to go together. Shaking my head, just too cute.
Sam called his non-gay medical centre at QV, last week, who said they only do blood tests with letters from a doctor. WTF? What does that even mean? What kind of medical centre... oh, never mind. I forget sometimes that I live in gay world and that things operate quite differently beyond its boundaries.
As Tom used to say, not every one lives in the ghetto and takes drugs and dances the weekend away, Christian. I've since stopped taking drugs, but I'm sure you still get my point.
Sam called my gay doctor, who said just come in you don't even need an appointment. Of course, that was wrong too. You may not need an appointment for a blood test, but you firstly need the paperwork which you can only get from seeing the doctor.
I rolled my eyes and strummed my fingers on the counter.
Of course, I got there first thing. "Let's get this over and done with." So, I had to hang around for an appointment. I bumped into Mark W. and two other friends R & Z, it was like old home week. Mark was getting his nerve pills, R was getting his monthly medication and Z was having his cock swabbed, as something was dribbling out of it. We all raised out eye brows at Z's story, but we're all old friends, we've all been there. We laughed about it. Z said something about the cause being a bad tackle on too much meth. R asked him if it smelt and we all recoiled.
"No," said Z. He grimaced. "It sticks my foreskin to my boxers, though." He tried to smile. We all recoiled again.
I went in first. When I came out, I said, "Good luck." Mark looked nervous, R said, "yeah thanks for that." Z did a boy scout salute.
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