the Dutch dermatologist the nice nurse the patient, me
My education before I got in to the Theaterschool had been 85% intellectual. In this conservatory program the ratio was reversed, and I was learning and practicing physical and vocal skills six days a week. Fabulous!
Along the way I found that a mole on my back at the base of my spine was getting irritated by all my vigorous floor work. I made an appointment with a dermatologist to have it removed and biked over to his office in the southeast part of the city.
I was greeted by a friendly blonde who apparently was both receptionist and nurse in this small office. We chatted for a minute --in Dutch -- and soon she showed me in to meet the doctor. He was snowy haired, apple-cheeked and friendly, in an old-fashioned way. The moment he detected my American accent, he gallantly switched to English. Okay.
I needed to drop trou and lean over the examination table. The pretty nurse across from me was preparing a local anesthetic. I'm leaning over the table with my pants down around my ankles. She passes the needle to the good doctor, who's right behind me.
Suddenly he bends forward wielding the hypodermic, bringing his pink, florid face close to mine, and with a twinkle in his eye (and just trying to assure me -- in English-- that the shot wouldn't hurt) he says, "You will have a very small prick!"
The next thirty seconds had the nurse and me trying desperately to stifle our laughter. It was all I could do to suppress a cry, "No, please! I like mine just the way it is!"