Today you’re going to walk into a doctor’s office with the healthcare card of the girl you’ve been fucking for the last four months who isn’t too serious about you.
“Sir, we can’t accept someone else’s healthcare card as proof of a policy,” the sassy black receptionist who works in every doctor’s office ever (you know the one!) will tell you.
“But she said we were friends with benefits,” you’ll loudly declare, hoping that someone gets the pun. The secretary will be unimpressed.
“Get the fuck out of here, kid. We’ve got real patients.” She’ll point to the door and you’ll shuffle out, hanging your head.
When you get outside the cold will bite right through your clothing, and your polio will leave your legs a creaking ruin. You’ll clutch your tattered blanket around your shoulders and hope that your lady friend brings some polio medicine when she comes back for her card and a little somethin’ somethin’. Temping is a hard life, a life without health benefits. You want to hold on until the employer mandate forces temp agencies to insure their constituents with reasonable healthcare policies, but that day is being constantly delayed and your polio is getting so, so much more worse.
Congratulations on Misinterpreting the Term Friends With Benefits!
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