She’s Got My Number

I had this procedure once—all men know the procedure I’m referring to—and as I was sitting on the bed, attempting to regain my senses—not to mention my dignity—the nurse came bouncing in (don’t you just hate it when they bounce in?) and gave me a list of things I could NOT do. My eyes bugged out when I came to the last thing on the list; No Alcoholic Beverages.

“Not even ONE beer?”

She grinned, shrugged. “Oh, ONE beer would probably be okay.”

“Could you put that in writing?”

Still grinning, she jotted it on a pad, tore off the page, handed it to me, then left the room, chuckling. I examined it;


Using the pen on the bedside table, I made a minor adjustment then put it in my shirt pocket.

On the way home I said, “You mind stopping at the store, so I can get a six-pack.

“You’re not supposed to drink today.”

I held the note up. “That’s not what the nurse said.”

She shot me “the look”; you know… the one that says, “I trust you and believe everything you say, dear.

At the next red light, she said, “Let me see it.”

one beer

She looked at it, handed it back to me. “Nice try, Charlie.”

one beer 2


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