During the big snow at Harrisburg, a young doctor came into my room and proposed that he remove the staples from my chest (big, heavy staples, holding my healing breastbone together).
"Is it okay if I do it right now?" he asked.
"Well," I said, "I would like for my husband to be here."
To tell you the truth, Reader Dear, I was stalling!
When The Yard Man returned to the room, I told him, "There
was a teenaged doctor in here wanting to remove my staples! I'm nervous enough
about getting them removed without having a teenager do it!
Later the doctor showed up with a big staple-puller. I was still apprehensive, but could think of no further excuses to put off the job. He proceeded to carefully remove every other staple, top to bottom. (Turns out it was nothing to be nervous about--There was very little pain! The staple-puller could have come from an office-supply store, as easily as it removed staples! The one wielding it was courteous and friendly and did an excellent job!)
When this young man returned the next day to finish the job of staple removal, I was happy to see him. "I'll never use a staple-puller again without thinking of you, my staple-pulling teenaged doctor!" I exclaimed.
He laughed. "I get that a lot," he said. "But I'm twenty-three!"*
*Reader Dear, turns out, he was not a doctor, either.**
**However, the story is true.***
***Please believe me.