The sound of the door closing interrupts me, and I look up to see that Dr. Patell is gone. I look at Tessa, who sighs with a ‘what the fuck was that?’ expression on her face.
I shrug my shoulder. “He’s clearly not the right one for us.”
***
SO, IT TURNS OUT OBSTETRICIANSare a sensitive bunch. Apparently, they aren’t very sporty either. Based on my little test, only one in three can catch a cricket ball, so in hindsight, I realize I should have gone with something softer, like an orange. They also aren’t used to having anyone question their credentials or motivation behind their chosen profession. But I mean, seriously? These people very obviously have vagina fixations, and nobody thinks to question that?
Long story short, we’re now waiting to get in for an appointment with Dr. Dropp, who Tessa has insisted willnotbe subjected to my questions under any circumstances. She was very firm on it when push came to shove. I believe her words were, “She’s been present at every birth of every Sharpe for the last forty years, and even though technically this baby will be half-Langdon, she’s exiting a Sharpe vagina, so Dr. Dropp is going to do the catching!”
I really shouldn’t have laughed when she said ‘Sharpe vagina’. It didn’t go over well at the time, but I’m pretty sure once Tess gets her sense of humour back, she’ll find that hilarious.
Anyway, I’ve had Vincent order a background check on Dr. Dropp, but at this point she could turn out to be a serial killer, and my wife will still want to have her deliver the baby.
