Zing, do you remember Dr. Don Cripps?  He was a student of mine years ago and had an unusual talent for drawing mustaches on the pictures of Presidents. He’s repented since then and gone on to 

become a successful doctor here in Smithville.

     Experiencing some pain with my jawbone recently, I decided to seek medical attention from Dr. Cripps.  I was ushered into his office by a highly efficient nurse, and before I could say ‘hello’, was intercepted by a thermometer.  She picked up my chart and queried, “What’s wrong with you?”

     Wobbling the thermometer around in the side of my mouth, I proceeded to relate my symptoms:  “Gluh…much…Ruhr.”

     She nodded.  “We’ve had a lot of that lately.  Let’s check your weight.”  As I stepped upon the scales, she recorded it and snickered.

     At that moment, Dr. Cripps breezed in and glanced at the chart.  “What seems to be your problem?” 

     “I haven’t decided yet, Doctor.  It could be lockjaw, but I thought I needed a second opinion.  He yanked at my jaw, and I emitted a groan that Dracula would have been proud of.

     He continued probing the sensitive area.  “Does that hurt?”

     “When I open my mouth.”

     “Uh huh.  Then my advice is keep your mouth shut.”

     “You’ve been talking with my husband.”

      The nurse came forward with a pointed needle and a determined look.  “How long have you had this pain,” the doctor continued.

       “Not very long.  In fact, it s-seems to be fading."

        “Don’t be frightened,” he said, taking the needle.  “This will hurt me more than you.”

        I might have believed that, had he not given the needle that extra twist.  Dr. Cripps hurriedly scribbled out a prescription and handed it to me.  I studied the scratchings on the paper slip, and my admirations for the pharmacist arose immeasurably.  Only a genius or linguist could have deciphered that alien language.  Shaking my head sadly, “You must’ve had a poor, English teacher.”

     “Ain’t it the truth?” he retorted, casted me a meaningful look.