Flu Season

“What’s up, Doc?” I said as my doctor, Mr. Wiggery, came into the room.

“What?” he asked, looking a little beleaguered. “Let me check your temperature.” He held his hand to my forehead. “Yowza! You’re burning up!”

“I think you’re just cold, Doc,” I said, alarmed at his icy hands.

“And all my patients have had fevers today, too,” Dr. Wiggery muttered, not hearing me.

“Are you alright, Doc?” I asked.

“What?”

“Are you alright?” I said, louder.

“It’s time for your hearing test!” Dr Wiggery shouted. “What am I saying?”
“Ouch!” I said, covering my ears.

“Oversensitive...” he said, making a note on his clipboard.

“I’m not oversensitive!”

“What?”
I shook my head.

“Time for your eye exam,” he said, getting out a pointer and the classic poster with the giant E in the middle. He pointed to the E.

“E!” I said.

“Nope. That’s an F!” He shook his head. “Boy, you really need glasses!”

“What? No!” I frowned. “Doc, I don’t think you’re well.”

“Time for your shot!” he said, pulling out a needle labeled “FATAL VIRUS.”

“Don’t touch me with that!” I cried, running out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Dr. Wiggery called from behind me.

So he signed me into therapy for fear issues. And that’s why I’m here in Phobia Anonymous.