I swung my legs back and forth idly. The doctor, under the guise of getting my test results, left about half an hour ago. I'm ill, you know. Headaches, back pain, hysterical pregnancy - the usual. So, ignoring years of man training (Ignoring illness in the hope it'll get better) I decided to visit the doctor. Of course, like everyone else in my fictional life, the doctor was dangerously insane. Having talked him out of preforming a lobotomy with a French Revolutionary guillotine he'd purchased from eBay, the doctor had carried out a few tests. Tests which mainly featured hitting me with a tiny hammer.
The door opened. The doctor entered. I sat. Such was life. After a moment, he opened a chart, read it thoughtfully, flipped it shut and approached me.
"Well Mr Jenkins," he began. I told him I wasn't Mr. Jenkins, but he went on anyway. "Well, I've got your tests back. You're going through the menapause Mr. Jenkins."
I sighed. I was not going through the menapause. I know this because I've already gone through the menopause, and am also a man. Gathering my things, I ran for the door. But first, I took back my urine sample.
I'm not comfortable about that man having my pee...