I am not entirely certain why he comes to see me every year for his physical.
Each visit is exhausting. I make a statement, he argues. I argue back. He has said that he considers himself to be smarter than any physician. I try to show him why he is wrong.
Thrust. Parry. Stab. Duck. Turn.
I felt I had managed quite well this time, getting through the visit without bloodshed. I was quite proud of myself.
Relief flooded over me.
“Well, I am done here. My medical assistant will be in in a few minutes to take you over to the lab.” I smiled to myself as I picked up my computer and started quickly for the door hoping to get there before he said anything else.
“Hey, Doc!” I could sense a sort of glee in his tone.
I cringed inside. I turned around and smiled at him, hoping to show that he was not going to get to me.
“Yes?” I asked, keeping my tone even.
“I just wanted you to know that you have something stuck in your teeth when you smile.”
I ran the tip of my tongue over the teeth. Sure enough, I could feel a big chunk of the breakfast sausage I had snatched from my daughter’s plate on the way out the door that morning had lodged itself between two teeth in that sneaky crevice right at the gum line.
He had struck the final blow.