That’s My Wife You’re Talkin’ To!

Hey man, who do you think you are, going up to my wife like that? See the ring on her finger? See my arm resting casually on the back of her chair? I mean, we’re holding hands, bro! If that doesn’t tell you she’s off-limits, I don’t know what will!

I bet you think you’re real hot stuff, huh, with your fancy haircut and your watch and your starched blue scrubs. I bet you think you’re really something, with that clipboard and those comfortable, supportive sneakers and that fancy medical degree framed on the wall. Just walking into a room and expecting everyone to drop everything and listen to whatever comes out of your dumb mouth. I’m not trying to start anything, really I’m not, but, hey, man, it’s not cool to call the name of someone else’s wife and just expect her to follow you into “your office.” Fuckin’ disprespectful, bro.

I might be the guy sitting in this metal folding chair, and you might be the guy asking how she’s feeling, but she’s married to me, okay? So why don’t you take a step back, buster, and get that stethoscope out of your ears so you can hear me loud and clear when I tell you to Back The Hell Off. Y’know why her pulse is so normal? Because you don’t make her heart race, man. Why don’t you get out your little pen and write that on your notepad?

You’re asking if she smokes? Really? She’s not gonna go up to the roof and bum a cigarette with you, dude. Does that usually work for you? Taking women to the top of the building and lighting up a Marlboro? I mean, you’re a doctor. Those things are toxic. You should know better.

And what about that band you just put around her pointer finger? You know, the one you said was for “taking her blood pressure.” What’s your game plan—to trick her into thinking you just proposed? Well, I’ve got some news for you, dumbass: the ring goes on the ring finger. It’s literally in the name. And don’t you dare try to take her temperature; she doesn’t need a scumbag like you telling her she’s hot. You’re, like, embarrassing yourself, man.

You seem like a guy who’s used to getting what he wants, when he wants it. Beautiful women, fancy job, a 520 on the MCAT. But not this time, pal. That woman whose throat you’re looking into with a flashlight? We’ve been married for ten years, so you better not try anything, asshole.

I’m gonna mess you up, man. You think you know her better than I do? What’s the name of her childhood dog, huh? Where’d she grow up? I see you asking her all these personal questions about her vaccine history and her medications, but all that smooth talkin’ ain’t gonna work on her, no way. Sure, you took the Hippocratic Oath, but she and I took the oath of fidelity. You might have a copy of her medical records, but I have a marriage license from the state of New Jersey, fella.

Oh, well, look who’s finished with her all of a sudden. I guess men like you are the same everywhere: you sweet-talk a beautiful woman, feel up her lymph nodes, and then kick her out with nothing but memories and a prescription for Tamiflu. Sure, you’ll take her insurance. I bet you’d take everything from her, if you could.

Just have a little decorum, dude. She’s obviously spoken for. Not to mention, she’s clearly not feeling well.