DEADPAN FLIRTATION

I’m Certain This Guy Totally Wants Me

Am I extra special or is he just doing his job?

Have you ever had that itchy feeling that someone just wants you more than their morning coffee? They stare beyond your smoky irises. Some empty cavern within your soul knows that they lust after you even over and above life itself. And the sentiment is reciprocal.

It’s hot, isn’t it? You become a slightly gushy, mushy mess. Almost anything is possible. This is what I assume. But how can I be absolutely positive? Am I extra special or is he just doing his job?

“Probably he’s doin’ his damn job,” my best friend would mutter. It isn’t that she thinks I’m trash. Ever since her spouse of ten years hitchhiked to Utah with his new bride, she’s been Negative Nelly. Every little thing in life is gloomier than the mortuary after a Code Orange.

“I’m fairly certain this is real,” I would try to reassure her. If I could. We don’t talk anymore. The Incident left me speechless.

How will I truly know whether he considers me more than a mere client? Does he insert his silicone-smothered hands this deep in every patient? Perhaps. But does he always have that teeny grin escaping the corners of his surgical mask — or is that solely because it is ME?

Does he stitch and sing to everyone? Mellow notes and lyrics escape those bloated, sensual lips of his. How could he croon Puff Daddy’s “Can’t imagine all the pain I feel. Give anything to hear half your breath” to just anyone? It can’t be a random karma thing that somehow he even knows how much Sean Combs and Faith Evans meant to me. Sigh.

The last time I was in this building was to visit my Great Aunt Mathilda. Her atrium probably collapsed in on itself to avoid her own back-sass because let me tell you, her feisty demeanor was as rotund as her cankles. That woman’s 77 years were spent criticizing her mother’s food prep, her hubby’s lack of life outside his la-Z-Boy, and her neighbor’s wash day habits.

And now, it’s me. Here. It feels like a good ole Canadian winter in this place and no one’s visited me. Of course, I don’t think they’re allowed to quite yet.

No one has been near me but him, of course. His soothing hands have massaged my innards and hooked me up to beeping, blurping machines. As the liquid rushes into me, it’s as though he’s gifted me with a whole new torso. Lighter, freer. Wire and thread have been zigzagged through me with more care than my ma used to change my diaper. I must mean something to him.

This can’t be a coincidence. He must really, truly love me. Or am I just another corpse to him?

©Jennifer J. McDougall 2021

Inspired by the “Let’s get weird” prompt from Christopher Robin.

Care to join in?

Will Hull, Carlos Garbiras, yesnodunno,Squeeze the Avocado,Posy Churchgate, May More, Michael Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg), Lindsay Rae Brown,Samantha Drobac, Dave Logan, Lucy Dan 蛋小姐 (she/her/她)