Memorable moments: Taking a turn for the nurse

I’ve always had a bit of a "thing" for nurses. It started in my late teens when a varicocele sent me to the hospital for surgery. I was attended to by a nurse so strikingly pretty that I promptly "took a turn for the nurse"—a condition far more pleasant than the one that had brought me to the ward in the first place.

Years later, after my divorce from Ally, the universe seemed to be leaning into my preferences once again. I met Lizzy at the local park, brought together by the chaotic introduction of her Schnauzer and my Mack. She was lovely, and when I discovered she was a nurse, I was particularly smitten.

As we dated, I eventually confessed my long-standing admiration for the profession. Lizzy, ever the mischievous soul, gave me a wink. "Ooh," she said, "I’ll wear my nurse’s outfit to bed for you tonight."

I spent the evening in a state of high-altitude anticipation. I had a very specific cinematic image in my head—something involving a crisp white cap and a short skirt—the classic "Florence Nightingale" aesthetic.

I lay in bed, heart racing, as Lizzy slipped into the bathroom to change. The door finally creaked open, and she stepped into the light.

There she was. In her blue scrubs.

There was no white skirt, no stockings, no vintage charm. Instead, she was swathed in several yards of baggy, sterile, utilitarian nylon overalls—the kind of outfit designed to withstand a twelve-hour shift in a trauma ward, not a romantic evening. She looked ready to perform a difficult gallbladder removal, not a private masquerade.

She was so clearly keen to please that I didn't have the heart to tell her. I summoned my best "impressed" face and pretended to be thrilled, but inside, I was feeling a profound sense of "ward-room disappointment."

It turns out that in the world of modern medicine, romance and practicality are rarely on the same shift. I realized that night that if I wanted a vintage fantasy, I should have dated someone from a 1950s period drama; Lizzy was a woman of the 21st century, and in the 21st century, the path to a man's heart is apparently paved with baggy, anti-microbial polyester.