Pip, I've failed you...

My follow-up visit with the angel in scrubs didn't go exactly as I planned. The day before I went, I decided to take Pip's advice and I talked myself into asking her out. It was going to happen and it was going to be great. A strange feeling came over me. I searched the internet for this feeling, and after several hours on wikipedia, I determined it's called "confidence." Weird.

I figured we'd go out to some nice restaurant. The finest Nacogdoches has to offer (Arby's), and we'd have great conversations. She tell me about how she was a doctor and stuff, and I'd tell her about that one time on the Sims when my dude reached the top of the medical career track. We'd high five and probably make out not long after that. (After we ate our beef and cheddar sandwiches, of course.)

After our delightful dinner, we'd come back to my place and relax on my man-mat. Things would probably get pretty hot. She'd show me where babies came from, and I'd pretend to have already known where they came from. As we drifted off to sleep, shed whisper, "Dale, I can only sleep if Tool is quietly playing in the background." I'd turn slightly to the side as I walked to my computer to conceal the giant bo-bo in my pants which no doubt arose from the fact that a naked woman mentioned the greatest band ever assembled. We'd fall asleep in each others arms to the gentle tones of "Prison Sex." Maybe she'd get some ideas from it. Maybe she wouldn't. Either way it would be the best day ever.

I had this all planned out. The most amazing day was coming up and I was excited.

That morning in the shower, I carefully groomed and scrubbed the ol' triplets like they were baby penguins after an oil spill. If they were to make another appearance, I wanted them to not only be impressive, I wanted them to sparkle!

I got to the doctor's office and went to the back almost immediately. I depantsified myself and put on my super-sweet gown to await the arrival of my delicate chrysanthemum. A few minutes later, the door opened and in walked the beautiful snowflake with big boobs that is my knee doctor.

She went right to work, making small talk as she gently caressed my wounded knee (Ha! Like the Indians! What happened there anyway? Like a peace treaty or something?) I had a brief mental conversation with my penis. "Stay put," I said. "She's not ready for your magnificence. Not yet." He complied and didn't cause a scene.

As I was trying to think of some hilariously witty remark about the fact that I wasn't wearing pants, I looked down and saw the mountain of a ring that was on her left hand. Holy shit. I think at least a hundred immigrant workers died during the construction of that ring. It was massive.

"So stupid!" I thought to myself. How could I have missed another wedding ring? I'm so bad at this.

I sat there, dejected as she finished her doctorly duties. Her diagnosis was that my knee was still slightly sprained and I should take it easy for a few more days. My diagnosis? A broken heart.

I guess it's for the best. I didn't want her to feel like a trophy girlfriend/wife. It's easy for women to feel that way when they're with me. I don't wanna brag or anything, but I am pulling down wal-mart truck unloader money.

I've since moved on to other unobtainable girls, but there will always be a special place in my heart for Dr. Whateverhernamewas. We'll always have that time she saw my balls, and no one can ever take that away.