Girlfriends (Patrick Sanchez) by Patrick Sanchez

naive—she didn’t really expect Shirley to be like Carol Brady or Marion Cunningham, but some resemblance would’ve been nice.
    “Yes, Shirley. I’m sure all the ladies were jealous of your bare tits. Next time, would you let them be jealous with a bra and a top over them,” Gina said in a resigned tone. It wasn’t easy accepting Shirley for who she was, but somewhere along the line it was all Gina could do. She really did love her mother, and it was just too exhausting to try to do anything else.
    “I’ll try. Thanks for picking me up and taking me home, sweetie. I can always count on you.”
    I know, Gina thought. That’s part of the problem.
    “By the way,” Shirley asked, looking at Gina. “What happened to your hair?”

Bedside Manners
    I t had been about a half hour since Peter finished filling out all the paperwork required of new patients when the nurse finally called him back to see the doctor. One time he actually typed up a generic form listing his name, address, health insurance, medical history, and all the other stuff doctors asked of new patients. He figured he could just copy and distribute it to each new doctor rather than spend twenty minutes filling out forms, but the first time he tried to use it, the receptionist looked at him like he was crazy. She had to data-enter all the information from their standard forms, which matched the screen on her computer and wasn’t about to hunt all over his generic form to find the information she needed.
    When he was finally called back to an examining room, the nurse did all the usual things. She took his blood pressure, temperature, and pulse rate, and told him the doctor would be with him shortly. Peter sat on the examining table, looking around at all the supplies and instruments on the cabinets, wondering what the purpose of some of them was. He hated meeting new doctors. He never knew what was in store. Some were friendly with a good bedside manner, while others were abrupt and rude and managed their patient load like an assembly line.
    “Hi, I’m Dr. McKonkey. How are you doing today, Kenneth?” the doctor asked Peter as he glanced over his chart.
    “I’m fine, thanks. Actually, it’s Peter. Kenneth’s my first name, but I go by Peter.” Peter had yet to forgive his parents for naming him one thing and calling him another. Going by his middle name constantly wreaked havoc in his life.
    “Well, Peter, what can I do for you today?”
    “I’ve been working out a lot lately, and a few days ago I started getting this soreness in my chest while I was on the treadmill. I know it’s ridiculous to think I might have a heart problem at my age, but, nonetheless, I thought I should check it out.”
    The balding doctor, who must have been well into his fifties, asked Peter a variety of questions about the pain and his family history. Then he listened to his heart with the stethoscope.
    “You probably just strained a muscle or something even more benign, but I’ll have Celia run an EKG to rule out any other problems.” The doctor pressed a buzzer by the door, and within seconds an attractive nurse appeared at the doorway.
    “Celia, we need to run an EKG on Mr. Virga,” Dr. McKonkey said to the nurse. “I’ll check back with you in a little while. Celia will take good care of you.”
    “You’ll need to take off your shirt and lie down on the table.”
    Peter followed her instructions while admiring her backside as she began flicking switches on the EKG machine.
    “We usually need to shave our male patients before we do this, but it looks like you’ve taken care of that for us,” Celia said while she prepped his chest for the test.
    This was one of the many times Peter felt his long hours at the gym were paying off. He knew his muscles must be turning her on. While she attached the wires to his body, he flexed his muscles as much as he could without it being obvious, hoping it would get her attention. Peter figured Celia was probably