Today was the final stop on my hometown healthcare summer 2026 tour—my good ole annual exam. Many horrors occur at doctors’ offices, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this.

I’m stethoscope-to-the-chest when she gasps, grabs my hand, and proceeds to ask me if I’m married. My ring on my middle finger had spun around, so she thought it was on my ring finger. I can’t even make a joke about it because I’m freshly 23 in the South.

Next, she moves the stethoscope down, listens to my belly, and hears a massive stomach growl. To which I offer: “Ugh, my banana is in the car.”

Then she tells me to stick out my tongue. Ahhh.

She stops dead in her tracks: “Why is your tongue blue?”

“It’s summer. I just had a Bomb Pop.”

Because it is summer, it’s peak Bomb Pop season, and I have a whole box to finish. If that doesn’t sum up the visit, I don’t know what does.

This is 23.