I was talking with the Tough Guy at work when I heard the familiar sound of footsteps coming down the hallway and that sound automatically triggered in my still just not quite so mature mind the song by the Pussycat Dolls. The song started to play in my head as our clinic dietitian walked around the corner and came into view.

“don’t cha’ wish your girlfriend was hot like me…don‘t cha‘…” She’s the only person I know in real life that can actually walk down the hall and make it seem like she’s walking in slow motion with a wind machine blowing her hair behind her like a teenage boy’s fantasy girl in the movies.

“Don’t ‘cha wish your girlfriend was a freak like me…”

I remember the fist day she started working at our clinic one of my co-workers, whose mind is not quite so mature either, ran up to me all excited. “Have you seen the new dietitian?” He was out of breath as if he had been running.

“No,” I said, “I’ve been working too hard.” I couldn’t help it and neither could he - we both started laughing uncontrollably at that statement.

“Dude, she’s not like other dietitians at other clinics that are big and chunky. You know what I’m talking about they try to tell you how to lose weight but they can’t take their own advice. They say their not really fat they just have a thyroid problem and once they get on medicine they‘ll be skinny again…”

“What are you talking about?” I asked my friend. He’s a talker and sometimes it takes him twenty minutes of talking to get a point, sometimes it takes him longer.

“Dude, she’s not just hot, she’s freakin’ hot.” I looked up at him from my work wondering if she was Michelle Rodriguez in leather with a bullwhip hot or just plain geeky superhero Haley Berry as Storm in the X-men movies hot.

“Hey!” the Tough Guy’s voice brought my thoughts back to the present. “you’re staring at her.”

“I’m not staring. She’s a friend and you just don’t stare at your friend’s ass no matter how hot it is. Besides, She reads my blog” I laughed because I knew as I said those words, they were going to end up in here.

She walked to the copy machine, made her copies and then started her walk back to her office. “Don’t cha wish your girlfriend was hot like me…Don’t cha’ wish your girlfriend was a freak like me…”

The Tough Guy said. “Our patients seem to like her.”

“Dude, we have skinny guys saying they’re getting too fat and need to see the dietitian just so they can get into her clinic.” We both laughed. “I bet if we checked, she has the lowest “no show” rate of the entire clinic.”

As she passed us she handed me a copy of the packet she just made. I looked down and saw that she gave me a list of exercises and times you’d have to do them in order to burn off popular fast food items.

“Hey, what’s this?” I asked the Tough Guy

“Maybe she’s trying to tell you something.”

“Huh? What could she be trying to tell me.”

“Maybe you’re getting fat.” That’s the Tough Guy. He doesn’t sugar coat things.

“I’m not getting fat. I swear that the cleaners shrunk my green shirt, that’s why I don’t wear it anymore.” The look on the Tough Guy’s face told me he didn’t believe me about the shirt being shrunk - no body seems to believe me about that, but it’s true. I think hey may have shrunk a few other shirts.

“Hey, maybe she just wants me to go see her ‘cause she thinks I’m hot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it” The Tough Guy rolled his eyes. It’s not cool when a tough guys rolls his eyes, something about it is just not right. “Besides, she’s married.”

“Just ‘cause you’re married doesn’t stop you from checking out the goods and thinking that doesn’t stop you from thinking your co-workers are hot.”

“Dude, you’re not hot.”

“Well not to you I’m not." I looked at the Tough Guy with a goofy look on my face. "If you thought I was hot then I’d be worried.” The tough guy didn’t say anything to that. “Now, let me go see her.”

I walked down the hall to her office and in my mind I could almost hear the song “Don’t cha’ wish your boyfriend was hot like me…Don’t you wish your boyfriend was a freak like me…”