One Day an Old Lady Went to the Doctor
In the calm, wood-paneled waiting rooms of a quaint suburban clinic, a medical curiosity was quietly unfolding—one that would soon become the talk of the local town. It all started on a Tuesday morning when Mrs. Higgins, a formidable octogenarian known for her sharp mind and even sharper tongue, decided she could no longer endure a persistent and maddening irritation. Mrs. Higgins was a woman of steadfast principles and traditional values, long admired throughout the county as a model of propriety. She had lived her life with quiet dignity, never marrying and proudly maintaining her status as a “maiden lady” in every sense. Yet, for the past several days, she had been tormented by an unbearable itch in her nether regions, one that no amount of talcum powder, medicated soaps, or home remedies could soothe.
Her first stop was the office of Dr. Miller, her longtime physician of thirty years. A practical man accustomed to treating the typical ailments of the elderly—from arthritis to high blood pressure—he listened carefully as Mrs. Higgins described her predicament, her decorum strained but intact. After a brief assessment, he adjusted his spectacles, consulted her chart, and then met her gaze with a clinical yet sympathetic expression. “Mrs. Higgins,” he said carefully, “it seems you have pediculosis pubis. In simpler terms… you have crabs.”
Mrs. Higgins straightened immediately, clutching her handbag like a shield. Her eyes blazed with indignation. “Crabs? Doctor, that is preposterous. That is a condition for the young and the wayward. I am eighty years old. I have never shared more than a milkshake with a gentleman, let alone engaged in behavior that would invite such creatures. It is impossible. Good day to you, sir.” With a sharp huff that seemed to reverberate through the clinic, she snatched up her coat and strode out, leaving Dr. Miller staring after her in stunned silence.
Determined as ever, Mrs. Higgins’ pride did not conquer the relentless itch. Two days later, unable to endure the discomfort, she found herself in the office of Dr. Stevens, a younger physician known for his modern approach. She carefully recounted her symptoms once again, omitting her previous consultation but emphasizing her lifelong virginity. Dr. Stevens conducted a thorough examination and arrived at the same conclusion as his colleague. “Ma’am,” he said gently, “these symptoms are classic for a parasitic infestation. Most likely, you have crabs—possibly from a contaminated towel or a public restroom.”
“I do not use public restrooms, young man, and my towels are bleached to perfection!” she exclaimed, rising with the poise of a Victorian matriarch. “I have told you—I am an eighty-year-old virgin. The math simply does not allow for this. You doctors are all the same—too hasty in judgment and too slow to think.” With her head held high, she exited, though the frantic tapping of her foot in the elevator betrayed the discomfort she was suffering.
By the weekend, Mrs. Higgins’ patience had worn thin. Sleep eluded her, her temper was frayed, and the itch seemed to gnaw at her sanity. In a final attempt to find relief, she sought the expertise of Dr. Abernathy, a specialist renowned for his diagnostic acumen and skill in solving the most unusual medical puzzles. Entering his office, she immediately set the terms of her consultation.
“Listen carefully, Doctor,” she began, pointing a gloved finger at him. “I have a very specific and very itchy problem. I have seen two other men this week who insisted I have crabs. I am here to tell you that is physically and morally impossible. I have preserved my virtue for eighty years with unwavering diligence. If you tell me it is the crabs, I shall leave and never return.”
Dr. Abernathy, who had witnessed nearly every human affliction in his four decades of practice, smiled kindly and gestured toward the examination table. “Mrs. Higgins, I respect your convictions. Medicine is about truth, not assumptions. Let us examine the situation ourselves and resolve this once and for all.”
Feeling a flicker of hope, Mrs. Higgins complied, lying on the table and staring at the ceiling as Dr. Abernathy proceeded with meticulous care. Using a high-powered magnifying lamp, he examined the area with the precision of a jeweler inspecting a rare gemstone. He hummed quietly, adjusted the light, and finally removed his gloves with a crisp snap.
Walking to the sink and washing his hands, he turned to her. “Well?” she demanded. “Tell me the truth, Doctor. Is it… what they said?”
Shaking his head, Dr. Abernathy’s expression conveyed relief and scholarly realization. “Ma’am, I am pleased to confirm that you are correct. Your virtue remains intact. The previous diagnoses were mistaken. You do not have crabs—at all.”
Mrs. Higgins exhaled in relief. “Thank heaven! I knew it. But then, Doctor, what is causing this maddening itch if it is not the crabs?”
With a deadpan expression and a mischievous gleam in his eye, Dr. Abernathy replied, “Well, Mrs. Higgins, given your circumstances, it is quite logical. After eighty years of being untouched, the fruit has aged, the cherry has ripened, and, quite literally, it has finally turned. You don’t have crabs—you have fruit flies.”
For a brief moment, the room was silent. Mrs. Higgins stared, processing the absurdity. Then, a small chuckle escaped, blossoming into a hearty laugh that filled the office. After a lifetime of guarding her “fruit,” she was told it had simply expired—in the most literal and ridiculous sense. She left Dr. Abernathy’s office armed with a prescription for a specialized cream and a story destined for her bridge club, proving that even at eighty, life—and medicine—can still deliver unexpected hilarity.
