Guest blogger: Loralee Anderson, character from Murder on Music Row
Just on principle, I’m not gonna bitch about Amy hacking into our blog a few weeks ago. Nan posted last week that I couldn’t let it go, but I can to, damn it. I’m just pissed Amy had the balls to do it in the first place. Oh, I know she’s the widow and I should maybe cut her some slack but hell’s bells it was downright tacky for her to post on our blog. I guess it seems like I’m the bad person here, not her, so that’s all I’m gonna say on the subject. Except Amy needs to mind her own business and keep her cotton-picking nose out of our blog in the future. See. I’ve let it go.
Nan also told you me and her took Gracie and Abby (Kat’s kids) bike riding a couple of weeks ago. I did take a tumble like Nan said, but it weren’t no fault of my own. The brakes failed—I swear they did—and that’s why I ended up being throwed off the bike when I missed the curve. At least there was bushes to break my fall some, but even so I got a big old bruise on the top of my leg and more on my arm and shoulder. I was wearing a helmet so I didn’t get no brain concussion or nothing serious like that.
When I fell there was several walkers and runners in the area and they crowded round me like I was a steak on a grill. Then this one guy told everbody else to back off cause he was a doctor and cause I needed air to breathe. Well let me tell you when I saw him, I could hardly breathe at all and it weren’t because of the fall. It was cause he was hot, hot, hot. He told me his name was Sean and he’s a ER resident at Vanderbilt, but a resident is still a bona fide medical doctor, they just ain’t got their specialty license or something. Remember that guy from the TV show The Bachelor who was finishing his residency at Vanderbilt who picked the kindergarten teacher from Nashville to get his final rose even though they did the show somewhere in Europe, I think, but then they ended up not getting married and he moved to Colorado and now he does a TV show with some other doctors? Well this guy was even hotter than the bachelor doctor and the bachelor doctor—Travis I think his name was—he was cute as a puppy.
Pretty much everbody went back to their walking or running or whatever they were doing before my crash while Sean checked me over to make sure I didn’t have no broken bones. Nan and the girls were there lickidee split and Nan told Sean she’d take care of me. Now that was one time I wish she’d hadn’t been so Johnny on the spot or gone ahead and took the girls to the car or something. I didn’t get nearly a long enough exam. I asked him for his name and number in case I had a question or anything and he gave it to me even though I was sweaty and dirty and my hair looked like crap from wearing that helmet, but since it probably saved my life I can’t complain too much.
We stayed a while when we dropped the girls off then Nan brought me home and made sure I was comfortable and had everthing I needed before she left. My leg and arm had already turned purple as a eggplant and were sore as heck, but other than that I was fine. I thought it only proper to call the doctor and let him know I was going to be ok since he took the time to make sure I weren’t hurt bad. And I needed to tell him thank you again—that’s just good manners.
So I called his cell #—that’s the one he gave me—and a little girl answered. When I asked to speak to the doctor she yelled, “Daddy.” I almost peed in my pants. He was a daddy? That meant there was a mommy, unless he was divorced and had the little girl for the weekend but if that was the case where was she when he was out riding his bike that afternoon?
I know I was calling to say thank you and to let him’ know I was ok, but the first words out of my mouth when he answered were, “You’re married?” I don’t know how, but he recognized my voice and totally ignoring my question he ask how my injuries from my spill on the bike was. I told him I was fine and thanked him again for taking care of me—that was the purpose of the call, after all. Then I asked him why he didn’t have on a wedding band if he was married and had kids. He just laughed and said he was glad I was ok and hung. Can you believe that?
Now, Nan might date married men, but I don’t. I reason if they cheat on their wives with me they’d cheat on me with some other bimbo—not that I’m a bimbo, mind you. But I just don’t think it’s right that married doctors (or lawyers or whatever) go around without their wedding rings, especially if they’re gonna rescue single women when they’re in trouble. I think there ought to be a law that if you’re married you have to have your wedding band on when talking to someone who ain’t married.
But I’m just one person and even though nobody’s ever accused me of being old fashioned this is one thing that sticks in my craw. What do you readers think about this subject? I’m real curious to know. If a lot of us feel this way maybe I’ll start a campaign to get legislation passed in Congress or something.
I guess I have been on a soapbox today. I’ll be better next time. I promise.