poured out before bed
“What are you reading?” Dr. Ductal asks as we walk Mrs. Jones to the front desk.
The 80-something’s face turns as red as her irradiated breast as she tottles towards the door, the paperback she’s fitted with a homemade cover of grocery store paper bag in the crook of her arm.
“Well… would you believe I’m reading Fifty Shades of Grey at my age?” she chokes out.
Dr. Ductal laughs. “Hey – everyone is reading it, it seems. I hear it’s pretty steamy.”
“Oh, sizzling,” Mrs. Jones replies. She lowers her voice, her little white eyebrows raised in secretive jest. “Say, I was thinking instead of completing my last few radiation treatments I’d just take the cover off this baby and hold it to my breast for a while.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Dr. Ductal snorts as we walk into the waiting room where Mrs. Jones’ husband stands, an issue of Christian Living in his hands. “I’m afraid it’d burn the thing clear off!”
The three of us burst into raucous laughter, leaving Mr. Jones to shrug in pleasant confusion.