U.T.I. Must Go Now

I met Richard on Tinder. Richard was an Ivy League educated IT professional who was impeccably styled and way past due for a haircut but impressively handsome nonetheless.

We met at a casual watering hole on the Lower East Side to have a few cocktails and hopefully some engaging conversation.

Minutes after ordering a couple of Caipirinhas and commenting on the unseasonably cold weather in NYC Richard excused himself to go to the men’s room.

Upon his return the conversation began to delve into the logistics of each other’s lives, i.e. where we are from and what we do to support ourselves when he suddenly excused himself once again to use the facilities.

And then again.

And then again.

And again.

When he finally emerged from the lavatory after his fifth or sixth trip he said, “I have to be honest. I’m pretty sure I have a UTI and I have been drinking cranberry juice all day but can’t seem to kick it. I think I need to go see a City MD.”

Astonished that he would be so willing to volunteer such intimate information (yet secretly sympathetic to his situation because come on, we’ve all been there) I relieved him (pun intended) of our get together for the evening.

A few days later I received a lovely text from Richard.


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