Originally posted on 6th June 2011.
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“Uh, Mr Doyle.”

“Huh?”, I opened my eyes.

“This is quite important; you should probably be awake.”

“Suit yourself.” I sat up a little straighter.

“Also you can’t have that drink in here.”

“What drink?” I sipped my drink and pondered the question.

“Um, that one.”

“What one?” I swirled my glass listening to the clinking of the ice cubes.

“In your hand”.

“Hand?” She was talking gibberish.

“Right now. Right there.” She pointed at my hand. Did she want some of my drink?

“… I’m confused, what?” This is hard work, I thought. Thank fuck I have a drink.

“Forget it. Just don’t worry.”

“Mmmmm scotch, I love you. Sorry, what was that?”

The doctor sighed. I wondered why. She must be making a mint if what she was charging me is any indication.

After 12 months of harmless fun, my wife had decided to ruin the good times and drag me to a fertility clinic. Now I had to deal with Doctor No-fun.

About the only interesting thing about the place was the picture of Stu next to the reception desk. Filthy bastard had his sticky fingers everywhere. He’d obviously conned the young girl somehow. I didn’t blame him. She was quite attractive.

“Anyway, like I was saying, there are any number of reasons why you’ve been unable to get pregnant with your second child. You need to try to maximise your health Mrs Doyle. Really give yourself and your eggs the best chance available.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling her,” I added like I knew what she was on about.

“Well the issue could easily lie with the father as well, Mr Doyle.” She swivelled her chair toward me.

“Pfft. Nice try. It takes more than that to cheer her up.”

“No, it’s well documented that both sexes should really assess their lives if they are trying to overcome an inability to conceive. For example, excessive alcohol consumption drastically reduces your production of sperm.”

“Well it’s lucky I’m not a heavy drinker then.”

She made an obvious look at me and then at my drink. If she wanted some she should have just asked. I had a whole flask.

“Okay,” she turned back to my wife. “Now there’s a number of things you can do to increase your chances of conception.”

The doctor droned on for what felt like minutes. Precious minutes. Blah blah fallopian tubes blah. Sperm yada yada hemorrhaging scar tissue. I was sure I was going to miss Inspector Rex.

“Now Mrs Doyle, if you get up on the table we’ll start with some examinations.”

“Look, I don’t want to be rude but I have things to do today can we get my part in all this over with?”

“I’m sorry Mr Doyle, but I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

“Oh you know what I mean right enough I think.” I slammed back the last of my drink and started unnbuckling my belt.

“Doyle!” my wife exclaimed horrified.

“Mr Doyle, what are you doing?”

“You said it could be the father, so let’s do this. Grab a cup. Test me. You might want to put a glove on, I havent showered for a few days.” I kicked off my shoes and got my pants past my ankles. I jumped on the examination bed bare arsed. “I’m gonna leave my socks on, okay?” I looked up to find two women staring at me, open mouthed.

My wife was white faced and looking a little ill. The doctor looked confused but furious.

“Mr Doyle, put your clothes back on. We have rooms set aside for this.”

“It’s okay, my wife’s seen me naked before. Come on, let’s get passed the BS. You’re not really my type, and you’re a little old, but you’re in good shape. I can work with it. Now grab my python let’s see if we can make it spit at ya. Hiss!”

The doctor’s mouth hung agape again. Maybe she was going to extract the sample another way. The day was looking up.

“I… I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she stammered. “You can lodge the sample yourself at the lab.”

“What do you mean? I want my damn happy ending.”

“Doyle, please stop.” It was my wife, crying again. I’d forgotten she was there to be honest.

The doctor started to yell. “This isn’t a brothel Mr Doyle. There are no fucking happy endings!”

“Hang on, this’ll be the most expensive handjob I’ve had in weeks and I’m the one who has to put in the hard yards with this?”

“What?” my wife asked through her sobs.

“Nothing honey. What kind of scam are you running here? This is bullshit!” I turned to face the doctor. She was sitting at her desk speaking quickly into her phone. Shit.

“Come on.” I gestured to my wife. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand before I call A Current Affair, or maybe the AMA and claim malpractice.”

I grabbed my wife by the arm and ran towards the car park. Just as we reached the front door I looked over my shoulder. Beyond the chubby, security guards ambling our way I could just make out that cute receptionist.

She seemed to be putting something on the wall.

It was then my wife, exhausted, piped up. “What is she doing with your picture?”

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