Dr. Stud

Hannah’s eyes widen, a circle of white around the sky-blue medallion of her irises.

“You were born… in a house?”

“Well, her mom was in a hurry,” Didi chuckles, her southern accent suddenly making an appearance in her tipsy voice. “Dr. Warner didn’t really have a choice that time. We weren’t all born in woodsheds or anything. But like I was saying, we just have a lot of nice things, old-fashioned things. Stuff you don’t want to give up just because the world is different now.”

“Well, some of us like the modern world,” I sniff, unable to stop myself.

Didi narrows her eyes, sucking the margarita through the straw and swishing it around her mouth before she swallows.

“Well some of us are taking the modern world back home, Joe. Some of us are practically cutting edge!”

I put my hands up to show that I am innocent.

“Okay, jeez, fine,” I grumble. “You’re a missionary from the future. We get it.”

“Wait, I want to hear more about this old-fashioned stuff,” Hannah interrupts, trying to relieve the tension in the air. “What else do you have? I mean, you guys have cars and stuff, right?”

“Oh, for the last year at least,” I chuckle. “And I hear we’re getting another phone line this year.”

“Dr. Warner still gives lady treatments,” Didi interrupts, her eyes sparkling.

I shoot her a warning look, flaring my nostrils.

“What are you talking about?” Desi asks, apparently intrigued by my stiffening body language. “What’s a lady treatment?”

Didi grins, her cheeks dimpling. She stares right at me with evil delight dancing in her eyes.

“Oh, you don’t know what a lady treatment is? You guys never heard of that?”

“I have a doctor for my lady parts,” Hannah shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Didi purses her lips suggestively. “Does your doctor… Give you the treatment? As in, to completion?”

Hannah shakes her head, her eyes vacant.

“Didi, stop,” I sigh irritably.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Desi insists.

Didi shrugs, drawing the conversation out. She looks down and brushes a few stray salt crystals from the lettuce fringe of her midnight-blue silk blouse.

“It’s some Victorian medical stuff… Just weirdness,” I interrupt breezily. “I’m sure he doesn’t even do it anymore. In

fact, those are just rumors, really. Just small-town gossip stuff.”

“That is not gossip,” Didi shoots back snidely. “And it is not just some old-fashioned thing… It’s a real thing, with real benefits. It’s something even your mother enjoyed, Joe. So there.”

I feel my cheeks get hot instantly. My instinct is to gulp down more of my drink, but I don’t think that’s really going to help.

“Somehow I doubt that,” I retort, but the words come out all meek and transparent.

“Wait… I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Desi fusses, sloshing another serving of margarita into her glass and then raising the pitcher over her head until she catches the bartender’s attention. “What is a lady treatment? Is this a real thing?”

“Back in Victorian days,” Didi starts, sitting up straight and brushing the tabletop with her fingertips like she’s giving an academic lecture, “doctors used to think that women got… backed up, you might say. And so they devised a treatment to, you know, release them.”

“Are we talking about pooping?” Hannah gasps.

Desi smacks her lightly on the arm. “Don’t be stupid,” she hisses. “If we were talking about pooping, Didi would’ve said pooping. And besides, men poop. We’re talking about… lady issues? As in—”