HOT DOCTOR PART 2

The Cliff Hangar (and some needed advice from you)

After looking in the mirror and deciding I look beyond haggard, it was time for another visit with Hot Doctor to up that botox intake, STAT. 

Now, I don’t know if the rest of you have Ogre-like tendencies where you just sprout skin tags and oil blops (thingies that look like pimples, but are actually from over production of oil?? Soooo Disgusting) that have to be burned off every few months. Being a seasoned and professional Ogre myself, I usually plan to have Hot Doctor burn off all the extras when he does my botox…. 

For whatever reason on the day of my appointment, the office is swarming with extra nurse-like females, who are trying to get Hot Doctor through all of his appointments by asking him questions for the patients and relaying his responses. As you can imagine, I was the most annoyed because this chick literally went back and forth to ask him how many cc’s of Botox I should get — as in, literally took a photo of my face, carried it down the hall 20 feet to him to show him, and then came back with his response. So I ask, “why can’t you just have him come in here so he can take a look?” and not just because he was hot and I wanted to see his face. 

Finally, this fool comes in to take a look — and after re-upping my botox, and smiling charmingly, the four nurse-like characters tell me he doesn’t have time to look at my oil blops. 

NO TIME FOR OIL BLOPS? WHAT IS THIS? We are surely in the upside down. 

So I whine and complain and tell them it's not cool to pay a $55 copay to see Hot Doctor, and then he has five minutes to do my actual injections and not even have a conversation about oil blops — preposterous!! Of course, he’s hearing this entire conversation and laughing, and sort of like, nod-agreeing…. So he tells his little helpers to make me a new appointment the following week for a 45 minute time slot…. 45 minutes, GASP. Unheard of. 

Now, if you remember my first post about Hot Doctor, I had fussed and over-thought (because that’s who I am) what underwear I should wear to a full body skin check — and dude was the most awkward when I wore the frilly mesh flowery ones. He could not have stood further away from me, NO JOKE. Can you see my skin from over there in that corner, Sir?!? Someone get this man a telescope…

Flash forward to my 2nd appointment — this time, the nurse-like characters surprise me with, ”He wants to do a full body skin check” without any warning. With no time to prepare fancy panties this time, I am in a blue sports bra and teal Star Wars underwear that has stormtroopers dancing with disco balls (these are real, I swear, get them at MeUndies.com). I may almost be forty years old, but someone please tell my underwear selection that. 

Finally my 45 minutes are here, and he is TOO happy to remove the skin tags and oil blops, as only a dermatologist would be… and lucky for him, I’m no longer in see-through Fenty flowery mesh panties to freak him out. So this time, he’s GOING IN. He has that flash light going and is pointing out hairs I didn’t know I had… 

Thankfully the peanut gallery of nurses isn’t there today, just one nurse who stands in the corner taking notes this time. 

As he’s burning off my ogre-ness, I make a joke about how I need to be the most glamorous possible so that I can get ten boyfriends. I say, “MAKE ME BEAUTIFUL.” He continues his work and asks, “Where are you gonna find these ten boyfriends?” and suddenly, our little burn fest turns into what I determine to be ACTUAL REAL LIFE FLIRTING. 

TRULY IN THE UPSIDE DOWN. 

We have an entire 45 minute conversation about how hard it would be to have ten boyfriends, and how annoying that would be to try to remember their birthdays, and then somehow we discuss his daily commute and workout, and how gift-giving is my love language, and music, and bands and concerts, how he doesn’t really like Vegas, if I had weekend plans and even how an ex-girlfriend showed up at his house with a gun and threatened to kill him once. And somehow, a city by city re-enactment of where he’s lived, and the weird things patient-soccer-moms have done to try to get dates with him — which is why he deleted all his social media accounts. All interspersed with questions about facials, skin products and chin sculpting ideas…. 

The nurse-like character was now leaning on the cabinet in the corner, fanning herself and rolling her eyes. Because now our 45 minute oil blop appointment had turned into some sort of weird dermatology date. He would tell me a band I should listen to, a show I should watch, and then call out some sort of cream prescription for the nurse to write down, without skipping a beat. 

But like could there be a more perfect man? You can talk to him about music, but also, he can tell you which wrinkle creams to use! Maybe we could like, watch Netflix and do our skin care routines together! Oh how happy we’d be in our Hello Kitty Matcha Face masks watching Stranger Things together!

I realize at this point, that I have been sitting on the little table without the gown, just there in my sports bra and Star Wars underwear having this very date-like conversation with Hot Doctor. And just like, letting him randomly explore my skin with a flash light while we talked about things that you talk about on a first date — but like, with my boobs out. 

So by the end of this thing, neither one of us can figure out how to end it… do I ask this dude for his number? Do I give him mine? This nurse in the corner would NOT have it. And so he awkwardly tells me to come back for a follow-up and the nurse-like character is finally released from this fresh hell as our note-taking third-wheel as she takes my file and ushers me back to the front lobby. 

I text a friend and ask if patient confidentiality is actually a problem — she says I’d have to switch doctors, and that he could lose his license or something if things got weird. Not a huge deal, but is possibly why there was no exchange of numbers as a normal date-slash-public meeting would go down. Either that or the Star Wars underwear were actually weird…  

My friend asks for Hot Doctor’s name, and so I text it to her. I start to wonder if he was maybe telling me NOT to try to date him because he’d had so many bad experiences? Like, was this code for “I suspect you’re interested, but I also suspect you might be crazy and we could end up on 20/20?” I mean, I had made sure to also check for a wedding band on his hand, and didn’t see one. Also, I do love 20/20 but would only want to appear as a side character…

So, I make my follow up appointment, and soon after, my friend texts me some weird screenshot that has Hot Doctor’s email address on it! She sent it with “FOUND HIM!” and I think I audibly gasped. I think I also covered my phone as if someone might see. Surely now, if there were to be an episode of 20/20, they would see this very screenshot and determine I was a lead suspect IMMEDIATELY. 

“Where the f*ck did you find that?!” I asked her. “Google” She said, reminding me that he said he had no social media which I GUESS to her meant it was some sort of challenge to find him! I had never googled this man before — because I just assumed he had made a point to erase his digital footprint to hide from this woman who showed up on his lawn with a gun, just like any ol’ Lifetime movie. But alas, maybe the bots are just too good at their job and managed to keep record of his info after all?

I felt SO creepy. Still do. 

We are now no better than the creepy soccer moms that would use their prescriptions to try to find him on Instagram and sliddddde into his DMs. Like, what am I gonna do? Email him and say, “Yo thanks for the Botox, wanna get ribs next time?” I’m not sure there’s a way to use this information in ANY sort of good way… 

Alas, my follow up appointment is tomorrow — and when I called to verify the time, they said Hot Doctor had moved to another office FULL TIME. Meaning, I will likely never see him again while wearing any sort of embarrassingly printed underwear for a full body check. 

And so now we come to you dear reader (Said in Lady Whistledown Voice), the measly 1,000 of you who hopefully have better judgment than I…. Let’s hear some advice from you in the comments (and if you aren’t comfortable putting them there, please slide into my DMs on IG @whatangiesays). If you were me, what would you do?? I genuinely want to know.

a) Email him knowing it might be creepy, but also knowing there’s little to no risk of ever seeing him again

b) Have one of you email him a link to this story

c) Forgetaboutit and move on sista

Cast your votes and OBVIOUSLY Subscribe/Share so I can report back what happens…