Phlebotomists Never Get Enough Of My Inner Elbow
“Nice vein,” she leers, phlebotomy-green eyes coordinating with determined Winnie the Pooh scrubs, from behind the plastic tray of shiny silver poking sticks.
I look down at my left arm, at the blue squiggle written beneath pasty white skin. She holds my inner elbow tenderly, but firmly, as if it’s our third date.
“Easy stickin’,” she nods, lips smacking. “Easy stickin’.”
I look down at my left arm, at the blue squiggle written beneath pasty white skin. She holds my inner elbow tenderly, but firmly, as if it’s our third date.
“Easy stickin’,” she nods, lips smacking. “Easy stickin’.”
Comments
As for you, Glad, I think you might be on to something there.