Turn your head and cough

I'm dating again.

This is something I haven't done for a long, long time. But it's important that I find a good match. Someone who can handle my quirks, my ticks. Someone completely at ease with my most intimate details as well as my excessive ear hair.

Of course, this is nothing more than a thinly veiled misdirect. Though perhaps after this morning's argument with my wife she might be reading this with a glimmer of hope.

The truth is I need a new doctor.

I have a full time job now with full time benefits and the new coverage does not include my fancy personal physician of more than 25 years. With his fancy, and expensive, Century City offices.

I'm going to miss Dr. _____. 

Though I won't miss paying the nearly thousand dollars for "concierge services." I'm sorry but a thousand bucks on top of the exorbitant office visits just got too rich for my blood. However, I did appreciate all the little extras, like free inhalers, free sample packets from the good folks at Cialis, and the many refills of codeine-enhanced cough medicine when I would get struck by a virulent case of West LA bronchitis, which has thankfully subsided.

Mmmmm, codeine.

And there was always the possibility of a good celebrity sighting at his Beverly Hills adjacent office. 

One time, while I was waiting for my car (mandatory valet parking) I found myself standing shoulder to shoulder with James Gandolfini. My car arrived first so I didn't see what he was driving. But I can tell you he was much shorter than you might assume. 

I was quite disappointed.

I was also disappointed, perhaps diemboweled is the more accurate word, when my doctor, of close to 25 years, took note of my enlarged prostate and sent me to a specialist in the building. A Urologist who stood about 6'5" tall, weighed in at 300 lbs. and had hands the size of a small anvil. 

The last thing you want to hear from a man who resembles a Russian made bulldozer, looking at an X-ray of your prostate is, "we're gonna have to milk you."

I'll pause here for you to cleanse that image from your brain.

There ought to be an app or a service for people in my predicament, I told my wife. Like a Match.com or a Tinder.

Maybe one of my thoughtful 8 loyal readers can set me up with someone. A doctor that is geographically desirable, has experience with needle-averse patients, enjoys liberally dispensing narcotics and has extremely small hands.

I'm even willing to go on a blind date.