If At First You Don't Succeed

I went to my doctor for my annual pap schmear.

My doctor is a tiny little Hispanic lady with a heavy accent.

"So... I'm thinking about going back on birth control," I said to her. She outlined several options. "Choo can haf an IUD," she offered.

"Nah, I'm not too keen about having a piece of copper in my body for five years," I answered. "I'm kind of good with the pill."

"Well," she said, her intelligent brown eyes sizing me up,"Choo haf to quit smoking."

"Oh! I know that. God! I'm all for it."

"Jes? Well. If you're 'all for eet', then I'm chur choo won't mind I don't write a script for the pills until choo quit smoking for a month."

I stared at her dumbly. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, her hand on her hips. "Oh, jes. I'm serious."

Uh... "Okay. I'll quit this Monday," I mumbled.

Goddamn doctors wanting me to be healthy and stuff. Shit.