Her bangs were pulled and pinned to the side with a red metal barrette. As she often did, she chose not to wear a bra and the thin cotton of her t-shirt left little to the imagination.The day was lovely and we enjoyed holding hands while strolling through the museum. We would each comment on pieces, telling what we liked and disliked about them and even injecting bits of history we knew about the artwork into our conversations. Occasionally, one of us would linger on a painting while the other would wander the halls but we would always naturally come back together. At one point, I paused to study a painting from the Romantic era while Daisy continued to peruse other pieces from other times. When I found her again, she was looking up at a very large wall-sized modern painting by a local artist that depicted a very large, very nude man; her head tilted slightly to the side and her hands clasped low behind her back. She was absolutely angelic. I walked up behind her and wrapped my arms. He was then stunned when she barked out, "And what do you need to see Dr. Anderson about today?" Are you shirting me? What the fuck? Jason went through this embarrassment on the phone yesterday. Didn't that fucking wench note the medical condition? Almost immediately, Jason went from stunned to pissed, and then in a loud voice he announced, "I think I may have contracted a social disease." You could almost hear a collective gasp throughout the waiting room, as Jason definitely caught the attention of all the little old ladies. He didn't give a shit. He was pissed. The receptionist gave him a clipboard and told him he needed to fill out a number of forms. Jason took a seat and little old ladies on either side of him literally moved away from him. Finally, they called his name and he entered a private office. The nurse, who wasn't bad looking told him to take a seat and the doctor will be in to see him. After ten minutes of reading credentials on various plaques on the wall and looking.
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