Our Once A Year Thang

Dr. Iwahara, you are a sly one. A charming Cassanova, a stud of the stethoscope.
What we have, every fall, is forever special to me. You tell me it's because my lower intestines and colon are all amok, but I know better. You just want to hold me, tell me everything I long to hear, run your fingers through my hair and administer propofol like a love hungry lothario coming to my window with a bouquet of lilies in the night.

Don't get me wrong. I do look forward to it. You take me away, like some long lost love ballad running through my subconscious, the love drug you give me and the gentle prod make me feel like one very special girl. Like I AM the girl with the most cake. Why can't we do this more often? Please tell me I am the only one.

I know, I know.

I must accept the rules of this game.

I can't have you. And it stings.

But you know what? Try as you might, your ovetures have caused too much pain.
You want me for real now?

Too bad. After it was all over, I woke up crying and asked for L.

Man those are some good drugs.

Back to bed for bonzo.