The Hot Doctor
It’s a cliché, I know it is. But I’m dating a hot doctor (speaking of the type to bring home to impress your mother). And I’m not talking hot by Jasmine standards, I’m talking hot by like, ANYONE’S standards. As loathe as I am to admit it, I confess to having a “type.” It never feels conscious, and yet with one exception, all of my committed relationships have been with tall, gangly, fair-haired, blue-eyed boys (cue Aryan race preference suspicions, except for that gangly part - although I think this type would be pretty duffy looking if they were all buff) and wow, that’s a pretty lame type. Hot Doctor is pretty much the opposite of all those, and couldn’t be more scrumptious. Plus, did I mention the part where he’s a doctor? And by that I mean the real kind (MD), not my kind (PhD).
I met HD at a bar (and am noticing a serious correlation between alcohol consumption and the success of first dates) and was having a generally pleasant time hearing about medical school in India and how he was cutting into his first cadaver at age 17. When he found out about my autism-related research, he told me he had recently diagnosed two kids with autism. That made me a little sad until he told me that the way he gets the first hint is that non-autistic kids explore with a little more enthusiasm in the exam room - i.e. they pick up the biohazard bucket and LICK it. So, your kid either might be on the spectrum, or he might be gnawing on some pus-filled bandages. He also told me his favorite rotation was OB/GYN because he loved delivering babies and he hasn’t gotten to deliver many babies since. He had a whole book! Of pictures of him with the babies he delivered! And pictures of said babies through the years as they continued to visit him for check-ups! And then I melted into a puddle and died, the end.
Out of nowhere, he suddenly starts complimenting my smile and I was a little speechless, not because I can’t take a compliment but because…well…my experience with dating is that you generally DON’T hand out the compliments early on, because that would be like revealing your cards too soon or something. Either that or I’m dating jerks, whatever. But yeah, not getting much in the compliment department, even with repeat offenders (by the fourth date, Wisconsin Guy was consistently complimenting my earrings. MY EARRINGS. But that was all). Shortly thereafter, HD was asking about my sweet tooth and I explained that if dessert could be classified as a cuisine, it would be my favorite, how I can rarely feel like a meal is complete unless I eat something sweet at the end. Laughing, he said, “Wow, I love you already.”
Umm…me too?
The compliments kept on coming, probably aided by the booze. It almost made him seem too suave. It’s like we get it, you got an A in the class called “Girls like compliments.” At one point, he was waving his glass in the air saying, “Huh, I’m not usually a 3 gin and tonics kind of guy, but this conversation is just captivating. Captivating!” I think I had only had 2 drinks, and he was still excited about the sweet tooth thing, so he said he knew the perfect place for us to go to get dessert, and where said place was. Then he said I had to drive because I was clearly the more sober one (oh honey, not so much on the 2 drinks and empty stomach combo) (and when I tell you about his car, you will be glad that I did not drive it). I laughed and said that place was like two feet away, and we could just walk there, but he seemed horrified by the idea of a little walk, stupid people with cars, and insisted we go pick up his car. Then he leaned forward and kissed my cheek (he later confessed that he wanted to kiss me on the lips in the bar, but was afraid of getting slapped).
We wove our way down the street to his apartment, pardon me CONDO, to get his car keys. I was all, why the hell does he not have his car keys ON him? You know, on the key chain. With the house keys. That he’s going to use to get into his house to get the car keys. My question was answered when we got to his door and he used a FINGERPRINT SCANNER to unlock his door. The…fuck? Is he like a spy-doctor or something awesome like that? Or is carrying around keys really that cumbersome? I stood in the doorway kind of awed by how nice everything in his place was (he would later inform me that he had to take a $50,000 annual pay cut when he initially started his current job and it was all I could do to hold my lips together and resist telling him that well, buddy, that is more than I make overall), waiting while he went to get his car keys and I pondered how I was going to be able to drive. But when he came back to the door, there was some sort of magnetic force field and well…yeah. We never made it to dessert.
I was sort of feeling like things were coming full circle (and really full circle since I spent the entirety of 7th grade in love with one Mr. Patel - an eternity for my attention span at the time) since I started this whole “dating” shebang as an alternative to getting drunk and ending up in a relationship with a friend/co-worker/roommate. Remember First First Date Guy? And how I became completely preoccupied with his potential micropenis? And here is HD, the first Indian guy I’ve dated since FFDG and I can’t stop wondering about what lies beneath. You know, the pants. (Spoiler alert: it’s fine. More than fine).
Later, as we were drifting off to sleep, out of nowhere he suddenly wants to chat about exes. Really?? REALLY? I actually had to say “really?!” because I was so dumbfounded. “Yeah, I think it helps me get to know you better.” What. The. Eff. I’ve never summarized exes so fast. I believe it was a dozen words or less: “I had 3 boyfriends before grad school and three during grad school.”
The next morning he offered to give me a ride home. We trundled down to his garage and he pulled out his car and it was…a BMW. And you wanted me to drive this thing last night? Partly wasted? I’m aware that doctors make a shit-ton of money, but it’s a strange feeling to be dating someone a disturbing number of tax brackets above you. It’s like you’re always quietly vowing to keep your shit together, because if you don’t, clearly that means you are destitute. No? Just me? Okay then.
I met HD at a bar (and am noticing a serious correlation between alcohol consumption and the success of first dates) and was having a generally pleasant time hearing about medical school in India and how he was cutting into his first cadaver at age 17. When he found out about my autism-related research, he told me he had recently diagnosed two kids with autism. That made me a little sad until he told me that the way he gets the first hint is that non-autistic kids explore with a little more enthusiasm in the exam room - i.e. they pick up the biohazard bucket and LICK it. So, your kid either might be on the spectrum, or he might be gnawing on some pus-filled bandages. He also told me his favorite rotation was OB/GYN because he loved delivering babies and he hasn’t gotten to deliver many babies since. He had a whole book! Of pictures of him with the babies he delivered! And pictures of said babies through the years as they continued to visit him for check-ups! And then I melted into a puddle and died, the end.
Out of nowhere, he suddenly starts complimenting my smile and I was a little speechless, not because I can’t take a compliment but because…well…my experience with dating is that you generally DON’T hand out the compliments early on, because that would be like revealing your cards too soon or something. Either that or I’m dating jerks, whatever. But yeah, not getting much in the compliment department, even with repeat offenders (by the fourth date, Wisconsin Guy was consistently complimenting my earrings. MY EARRINGS. But that was all). Shortly thereafter, HD was asking about my sweet tooth and I explained that if dessert could be classified as a cuisine, it would be my favorite, how I can rarely feel like a meal is complete unless I eat something sweet at the end. Laughing, he said, “Wow, I love you already.”
Umm…me too?
The compliments kept on coming, probably aided by the booze. It almost made him seem too suave. It’s like we get it, you got an A in the class called “Girls like compliments.” At one point, he was waving his glass in the air saying, “Huh, I’m not usually a 3 gin and tonics kind of guy, but this conversation is just captivating. Captivating!” I think I had only had 2 drinks, and he was still excited about the sweet tooth thing, so he said he knew the perfect place for us to go to get dessert, and where said place was. Then he said I had to drive because I was clearly the more sober one (oh honey, not so much on the 2 drinks and empty stomach combo) (and when I tell you about his car, you will be glad that I did not drive it). I laughed and said that place was like two feet away, and we could just walk there, but he seemed horrified by the idea of a little walk, stupid people with cars, and insisted we go pick up his car. Then he leaned forward and kissed my cheek (he later confessed that he wanted to kiss me on the lips in the bar, but was afraid of getting slapped).
We wove our way down the street to his apartment, pardon me CONDO, to get his car keys. I was all, why the hell does he not have his car keys ON him? You know, on the key chain. With the house keys. That he’s going to use to get into his house to get the car keys. My question was answered when we got to his door and he used a FINGERPRINT SCANNER to unlock his door. The…fuck? Is he like a spy-doctor or something awesome like that? Or is carrying around keys really that cumbersome? I stood in the doorway kind of awed by how nice everything in his place was (he would later inform me that he had to take a $50,000 annual pay cut when he initially started his current job and it was all I could do to hold my lips together and resist telling him that well, buddy, that is more than I make overall), waiting while he went to get his car keys and I pondered how I was going to be able to drive. But when he came back to the door, there was some sort of magnetic force field and well…yeah. We never made it to dessert.
I was sort of feeling like things were coming full circle (and really full circle since I spent the entirety of 7th grade in love with one Mr. Patel - an eternity for my attention span at the time) since I started this whole “dating” shebang as an alternative to getting drunk and ending up in a relationship with a friend/co-worker/roommate. Remember First First Date Guy? And how I became completely preoccupied with his potential micropenis? And here is HD, the first Indian guy I’ve dated since FFDG and I can’t stop wondering about what lies beneath. You know, the pants. (Spoiler alert: it’s fine. More than fine).
Later, as we were drifting off to sleep, out of nowhere he suddenly wants to chat about exes. Really?? REALLY? I actually had to say “really?!” because I was so dumbfounded. “Yeah, I think it helps me get to know you better.” What. The. Eff. I’ve never summarized exes so fast. I believe it was a dozen words or less: “I had 3 boyfriends before grad school and three during grad school.”
The next morning he offered to give me a ride home. We trundled down to his garage and he pulled out his car and it was…a BMW. And you wanted me to drive this thing last night? Partly wasted? I’m aware that doctors make a shit-ton of money, but it’s a strange feeling to be dating someone a disturbing number of tax brackets above you. It’s like you’re always quietly vowing to keep your shit together, because if you don’t, clearly that means you are destitute. No? Just me? Okay then.