Bob was 67 years old, retired, slightly round in the middle, and clinging to his dignity like it was the last donut at a church bake sale. When his wife finally convinced him to go in for a full checkup, he agreed—reluctantly—and only after she bribed him with the promise of steak for dinner and two uninterrupted hours with the TV remote.
He sat nervously on the exam room bench, surrounded by posters that warned about cholesterol, suspicious moles, and things Bob never wanted to Google. The nurse walked in, cheerful and efficient, holding a clipboard.
“Okay, Mr. Patterson,” she chirped. “The doctor will be in shortly. But first, I need you to remove all your clothes and put on this gown.”
Bob clutched the edges of his sweater like a shipwrecked man clings to driftwood. “All my clothes?”
“Yes, please,” she said with a warm smile. “Down to your skivvies.”
Bob looked around, eyes wide. “In front of you?”
The nurse chuckled. “Well, no. I’ll step out. But even if I didn’t, don’t worry—I’ve seen the naked human body.”
Bob nodded slowly. “Yeah, but have you seen this one? It’s got… character.”
She stifled a laugh. “Mr. Patterson, I once had a 93-year-old man try to moonwalk in compression socks. You’ll be fine.”
Bob sighed dramatically. “All right. But if I get stuck in this gown, we’re calling a priest, not a doctor.”
As she stepped out, Bob examined the gown like it was a Rubik’s Cube made of cloth. He tried one armhole, then another. Eventually, he managed to get it on—backwards. He looked in the mirror, saw the open part hanging like curtains at a haunted theater, and panicked.
The nurse knocked. “All done?”
Bob groaned. “Define done.”
She peeked in, took one look, and grinned. “You’ve got it on inside out, backwards, and upside down. That’s a new record.”
Bob adjusted it with her help, finally sitting on the bench with his dignity in a pile beneath his socks. The doctor came in moments later, did the checkup, and declared Bob “surprisingly healthy for someone who thinks fruit is only meant for pie.”
As Bob got dressed afterward, he muttered, “Next time I’m bringing my lawyer to help interpret the gown instructions.”
The nurse smiled. “You did great, Mr. Patterson. Want me to write you a bravery certificate?”
Bob grinned. “Only if it comes with steak.”
