Another Date with the Delicious Doctor Daram

Getting older sometimes sucks. My body no longer functions as well as I would hope. I do not leap out of bed anymore. Kneeling is uncomfortable and returning to a vertical position is slow and cumbersome. Bending over my rounded figure is becoming more difficult. My ankles crack, shoulders creak, muscles ache after surprisingly little effort and my back stiffens and cramps, often without warning.

As for my skin, this is a consistently faulty organ. Back in the time of the dinosaurs, I barbequed myself every summer until I was sixteen. My Anglo-Saxon skin had two colours - pale and scarlet. I remember nights when I was so sunburnt that the heat would radiate off my body and sleeping was almost impossible.

As a result of my self-inflicted idiocy, I now suffer the consequences. I have had spots burnt, biopsied, scraped and scalped off various parts of my body, primarily my shoulders, upper arms and face. I have had ordinary general practitioners, plastic surgeons and dermatologists inspect, poke, prod and stab.

The good news is that although I am growing older, the specialists are getting younger. And some of them are quite delectable. Take my newest quack. I share him with Michael but I am pleased to say that Doctor Daram has taken more bits out of me than my husband. Hence I get to spend more time in his company.

Young, with curly black hair, a good looking face, trendy glasses, a sense of humour and a love of dogs, Daram is pretty close to perfection. He even makes scrubs look like a fashion item.

Except, much to my sorrow, he is capable of lying through his teeth. Take my latest visit yesterday. After pronouncing my nose as well healed, he then took a critical look at the rest of my body. There is nothing quite so soul destroying as stripping to my bra and jeans and exposing my roly-poly body to a gorgeous young thing. A few superficial lesions were burnt off. Worse was to come. Daram spied a suspicious spot on my right shoulder. No problem, he said. I'll just shave that off. Great, I responded. No needles? Only a very small one, he assured me.

Hence my disappointment. The needle was not small, in my opinion. And he stabbed him on multiple occasions. That's not a small prick, I roared. That's a big prick! And I don't like you anymore.

Michael and Daram were in fits of giggles. I was not amused. The job was done, a band-aid was dispensed and I informed Daram that due to his propensity for both lying and causing pain, I could not possibly leave Michael for him. He grinned back at me.

Having a doctor like Daram is like giving birth. I will dutifully return for my next appointment in a couple of weeks and drink in his cheerfulness and good looks.

However, Michael need not fear. He will remain my man. Daram is far too young for me.

An approximation of Doctor Daram (without glasses)!