Like Momentum Without the "M"

First things first: My baby sister turned 16 yesterday! Yay! And you know what means, of course. All drivers west of I35, watch out! Another lead-footed member of the H. family is on the road!

So I have this optometrist, Dr. C. He's sort of paunchy. He has a rather large "omentum." Oh, yes. I heart Dr. Oz. Anywho. Dr. C's omentum caused something of a beer belly which, unfortunately, rubs all over me while I'm held hostage in that damn exam chair. I mean, seriously, folks, it swipes my forearms and smacks my boobs. It really creeps me out.

At my last visit, his belly brushed up against and then rested on my wrist. He was all up in my face, checking my eyes with that horridly bright light, and all I could think was, "Maria, don't move your arm. Don't move your arm!" I just knew that if I did, it would seem like I was caressing his chub. Ick! Ick! Icky!

Later, I'm trying to explain this to Dave as we're pulling into the Target parking lot. For some odd reason, he finds the idea of Dr. C's omentum molesting me as hilarious. He then proceeded to act out Dr. C's point of view. "Oh, Mrs. O, your arm is so soft. I just want to rub my--"

I won't go into the rest of it. It got rather ribald at that point. Now I'm mortified. I don't know if I can go back to his office without seeing/hearing Dave's act. Jerk...