I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I can't think. It's possible the blood my brain needs to function properly is trapped in my arm on the other side of the pinching sphygmomanometer. Oh, for fuck's sake, I think to myself, heart racing in the heart attack zone instead of the blood pressure meditation zone. How do I play this?

The situation I'm trying to play off? A patient standing behind the nurses' station in a pair of scraggly, old granny panties and a hospital gown. I've got a medical water wing painfully clamped to my bicep while standing on an outdated piece of weight measuring technology. There are no medical professionals around at this particular moment. Whoever is behind me will need a decent explanation as to why I'm out of my examination room--unsupervised--in an area for employees only. A normal person in my predicament would simply turn around and ask for assistance removing the sphygmomanometer, then return to her room. But I'm not normal. Not normal at all. Instead, I feel like a secret agent on an imaginary mission to stop the evil takeover of a mirror magician and his inferiority goggled minions. I can't lose my cool. I can't blow my cover. I must convince whoever is behind me I'm on official Urgent Care business.

I take a deep breath and push the pain of my numbing arm out of my mind. Then slowly, I turn around--feet jiggling the scale's wobbly foot platform with loud clanging sounds.

My eyes are greeted with the image of the McCutie Assistant, the one who walked me from the waiting room to my examination room. Unfortunately, I'm in no position to pull off a successful round of man giggling. I'll need to think of another way to get out of this tangle. With thoughts of martial arts meditation at the top of my brain, I decide to untangle my awkward position with exaggerated details of my fighting abilities.

The McCutie Assistant appears to be waiting for a response, so I give him one. "This must look weird."

He shrugs and smiles. "A little."

Then it hits me. This assistant has seen more than his share of awkward situations in this Urgent Care center--the closets in particular. You've got this, I reassure myself. Commence fibbing!

"I'm getting ready for an MMA fight," I lie. "Cutting weight. Need to drop about 70 pounds before my match."

McCutie walks towards me so he's within conversation range. "You come to Urgent Care for that?"

Good point! "It's not typical," I agree. "But I'm cutting an insane amount of weight. My trainer knows someone here who said they'd monitor me." Pffft, I think to myself. That sounds totally legit! Like he even knows.

Pointing to the sphygmomanometer, McCutie asks, "What's that about?" He gently touches my fingers turning shades they probably shouldn't be turning.

"Pain control," I reply. "Increasing my resistance to pain. I think I'm done now. If you could help me take it off."

"Sure." As McCutie fumbles looking for the release valve, I rest my arm on his shoulder to maintain my balance due to the scale's jiggly platform. Had I known it was going to start squeaking like an old bedframe having a sexy-time, I would've stepped off it--but I don't want to be rude and disrupt McCutie's concentration.

"Success," he announces. I can hear the air hissing and feel the cuff deflating.

"Oh, my God." I purr in relief. "You're amazing. Thank you for that."

"My pleasure," McCutie replies with a slight giggle.

Someone clears her throat.

Both McCutie and I look over his shoulder and see the Receptosaurus in the hall, walking towards the swinging doors exiting to the waiting room. "Cougars," she mutters while shaking her head.

Shocked, I think to myself, How did she know I went to Washington State University? I look at McCutie, my arm still draped over his shoulder and nod in the direction of the receptionist. "University of Washington fan?"

"Yeah. I take some classes with her son."

"That makes sense." I step off the scale to prevent further squeakage, my hand on the assistant's chest for balance support.

"What makes sense?" he asks.

Looking up at an adorable future doctor, I reply, "Her cougar comment." My eyes widen as the words fresh from my lips hit my ears. My hand on the young assistant's chest immediately snaps behind my back.

"Are you a cougar?" he asks.

"No! Nope, nope, no. NOPE!" I don't seduce younger men for sexytimes! I don't!

McCutie blushes. "I thought you were saying you went to WSU."

"Yes. Yep. I did. Yes, I did."

McCutie rubs the back of his head. "Oh?"

"We're Cougs, not cougars. Confusing. You know? Too many assed tots--mascots--too many cougar mascots. That's why we're Cougs." I immediately switch to another subject. "So, yeah. Hope I win my fight."

Luckily, the McCutie assistant takes the sharp right with me onto CONVO SWAP STREET. "Do you train at Ivan's gym in Seattle?"

"No. I'm over at Matt's gym in Kirkland."

"Where Bibiano and Demetrious Johnson train?"

Oh, holy hell! I scream inside my head. He. Did. NOT! He did not just take a left on MMA FAN BOULEVARD.

"Yeah."

"Which organization do you fight for?"

Buckle up, sweetheart. LIAR-LIAR AVENUE is a bumpy ride.

I nervously attempt to run my fingers through my hair, but they get caught in a knot of frizz. "I'm not exactly--fighter may not be the most precise term--"

McCutie blinks a couple times before his eyes squint, his head swaying from side to side. He appears confused.

"I'm sort of--like--sort of good at beginning boxing. I'm like pretty good. I'm not even lying."

The assistant's brows scrunch. It seems my words are difficult for him to process.

"Oh, screw it!" I exclaim, bowing down in defeat. "I sit on the bench--mostly. Like--I try to look cool at boxing, but--whatever. I can warm a bench like a boss! Even better than the professional fighters."

McCutie man-giggles and motions towards the sphygmomanometer and scale. "What's with--?"

"I'm waiting for Babs," I reply, remembering that's what the other nurse called Bubbles. "We're taking a dip in the La Urgent Care Pool when her shift ends." I point to a hall next to the nurses' station running perpendicular to the main hall. "The pool and spa are down there, amirite?"

Score! Another point for a man-giggle!

"Yes," McCutie imaginarily confirms.

Holding up my hospital gown between pinched fingers, I add "I'll need that fluffy white bathrobe you promised."

"I couldn't find the ones embroidered with gold thread," he replies.

"Well, damn it!" I put my hands on my hips, a deflated sphygmomanometer still dangling from my arm.

The door to an examination room opens and my handsome nurse emerges. Pointing at McSexy I say, "I'll ask him. Maybe he knows where they keep the La Urgent Care bathrobes."

McCutie glances over his shoulder at the sexy nurse walking towards us. The young assistant seems relieved to pass the responsibility of a rogue patient off to someone else. Turning back towards me, he says, "I'm sure he'll know where they keep them." With a smile and a nod, the McCutie assistant turns to leave--acknowledging McSexy as he passes.

McSexy gestures towards me with an open palm, glances back at the empty examination room, then returns his focus back to me. "Why are--?"

"Don't do it! Don't return Doc's knife!"

*****McSEXY BREAK*****

Sort of good at basic boxing? A BOSS at bench warming? These are true stories.

MUSIC: Ed Sheeran. Shape of You. Ed's song has nothing to do with this chapter. The video, however, adds lots of atmosphere. Not only was this boxing themed video shot in Seattle, but one of my striking coaches appears in the background!

Your vote is truly McAppreciated. Muah!

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