Doctor Doctor!

Men seem to place fairly solid emphasis of who they are on the careers they pursue. This, I find to be something hard for me to wrap my mind around. I have trouble identifying myself by something external to me. My almost instinctual belief is that we define the external by our internal selves; however, with every action is an equal and opposite reaction. The external will act back on us, shaping us.

Men, however, seem more solidly shaped by the external's push back upon them. They are swayed by their "bros" more easily than a child promised candy. What they do for a living is almost a part of their nom, à la Bob the Builder. Their career not only seems to define them, but give them exclusive rights according to the status of their career.

We all know of my long history with pilots, and I will admit I do prefer to fall back on old habits. Hey, it's the devil you know... right? Just nod your head.

However, I have recently had the distinct pleasure of experiencing a different demographic of men--doctors! Allow me to begin by saying just as pilots are simply men in flight suits, doctors are men in scrubs. No matter how they differ from other men in other career paths, they are still men. Men are men. If you don't know what I mean, you need to date more. Seriously.

So... my research sampled three different men in medicine. Exhibit A is hardly worth mentioning. He was abso-fuckin-lutely boring. Poor guy. No worries though, he's a doctor. He'll find his love bunny. Exhibit B was much more interesting, but... strange. I seriously couldn't quite put my finger on it, but my hand is another story. I would say definitely a step up from Exhibit A. As for Exhibit C, he's going to drive this story.

As you probably know, not only can you spot a pilot a million miles away, but you can also take a pretty good stab at what he drives. Doctors are no different. Surgeons and ER docs are like the fighter pilots of medicine. Ob's are the heavies. They all feel entitled. I'm a pilot! sound familiar? Yeah. I'm a doctor.

Exhibit C was sure to remind of that a few times when I questioned exactly why dropping my pants for a taken man would be beneficial to me. His psychiatrist mind tricks did not work. As he continued with embarrassing attempts to metaphorically wave his hand in front of me and convince me I should have sex with him, I crushed him with my mind Vader style.

Seriously, when will it end? Put some time and effort into a woman and you will yield powerful results. Or just learn how to play a guitar. *Shrugs* I dunno.

Candid Cabbage

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