Going to get fried by the x-ray machine at Mougins has become routine. The process is very slick, and no time is wasted. But during the minute or so whilst the cross-hairs of the lasers are being lined up on my abdomen, the 'manipulateurs' keep chatting, probably to calm down nervous patients.
After a while, you get to know them, in a superficial way. Given that they are dealing with fairly intimate parts of your body (their first act to to pull down your underpants), the chat sometimes takes on a slightly intimist twist.
Last time, for instance, the lady in charge, who had been shunting me around on the slab in what could only be described as a burly fashion, started pinching my thighs and said, dreamily: "Monsieur, vous avez les jambes d'un cycliste". I found it hard to stay still in the machine after that. Was it a compliment?
Inscription à :
Publier les commentaires (Atom)
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire