For a Laugh: Breast X-Rays

So a couple of weeks ago Oliver had a really bad cough. He had had pneumonia a few months ago so I took him to the doctor to get checked out. They decided that a lung x-ray was in order because his breathing was a bit laboured and my doctor sent me to the clinic to have it done.

The clinic is brand new and I’ve never been there before so I didn’t know my way around. I spotted the information desk and decided to ask rather than wander around aimlessly with a toddler that’s just sat through an examination and was nearing nap time. There was a young guy at the desk, in his mid twenties at most.

Me: “Excuse me, where do I need to go for a chest x-ray?”

Young Guy: “Do you need an x-ray for your chest or for your breasts?”

As he asks this, his eyes kind of slide to my chest area, not in a leering way but in a subconscious I-just-said-the-word-breasts-so-I-should-look-at-them kind of way.

Before I can even reply he’s stammering and pointing the way to the elevators and telling me which floor to go to.

I couldn’t help smirking but I didn’t bother telling him that the x-ray was for my 2 year old son, or that I’m pretty sure there are no such things as “breast x-rays.”

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