Every time I go to my doctor, who happens to have an Irish accent, she asks me the same question. "Do you have a boyfriend?"
One time I said no and that was followed by a long disapproving look from Irish Doctor, immediately followed by a long look of pity, and then a swift and encouraging pat on the back. After that experience, I started to say yes, even if I didn't.
As soon I said yes, Irish Doctor always continued with the same follow up question: “Is he a good guy?” I then frantically made up some imaginary good guy and told her all about him. I have dated some pretty unbelievable good guys: an astronaut, a politician, a prince. That one was harder to sell. But she always seemed to believe me.
Over time, I started to run out of good guys to describe to her. I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t break the chain of imaginary good guys that I had been dating. What would happen if I told her what I’d really been up to? “No, I’m not dating any guys right now. I prefer to spend my weekends alone, drinking tea and pretending I'm at Downton Abbey.” I was certain the world as I knew it would collapse around me if my poor sweet Irish Doctor knew this. I was keeping the shred of dating sanity I had left together by one tiny lie. And that was the one I told Irish Doctor. So, I would keep lying.
One day, I went to see Irish Doctor and she burst into the room like my Fairy Godmother and asked the age old question, “Do you have a boyfriend?” and then “Is he a good guy?” But for some reason on this day of days, I couldn't think of a made up good guy to save my life. I couldn't even remember the last good guy I made up so I could gush about how long we'd been dating. There was a long silence and I started to panic. I had to lie. Think, think. I looked around the walls desperately, which were plastered with pictures of happy parents and their babies that Irish Doctor delivered. My eyes landed on a picture of Matthew McConahey and his baby. He was holding the baby in one hand and making the sign for the Texas Longhorns in the other hand. This infuriated me as I hate the Longhorns. My anger for the McConahey, the Longhorns, and the terrible car commericials he’s in, mixed with my confusion of loving him in True Detective made me lose it. I yelled “I don’t have a boyfriend!!! I don’t have a good guy boyfriend!”
I closed my eyes waiting for the world to collapse around me. When I opened them, Irish Doctor was paying no attention and was looking through my chart. She looked up and said "Hm? Did you say something dear?" Perhaps she had never been listening to me to begin with.
I felt proud of myself none the less, for I had told the truth. I was a dignified, independent lady. Except for the fact that I was wearing an ass-less gown.