On the aforementioned list of things being examined minutely, you can now add a new and involuntary entry. Owing to a generally secure system of privacy, and to the discontents of being a man with waterlogged nether regions, I have of late adopted Arthur Fonzarelli’s views on the supererogatory nature of wearing underwear beneath a respectable gown (the relevant quote from Fonzie’s high school graduation was, I believe,“Yo, I am NAKED under this”). All well and good, because Fonzie was too cool to be exposed in an undignified manner under any circumstances. Not so your humble correspondent.

In fairness, I wear loose leggings all day, so going to bed “commando” did not seem like a very risky strategy until the last couple of days, when my bedtimes have been creeping later and later (mainly due to late-arriving meds) and thus my wakeup times have been pushed back from their usual 6:00 AM to 8:45 or 9:00 AM. By this time, the morning shift feel they have indulged me long enough and thus prosecute their examination routine with ruthless efficiency, ignoring cupped, still-dopey hands strategically shielding the “pee pee parts.” Et voilà! My Primary Nurse got an eyeful of something that make it clear that, while it might have been too early in the day for me to have my trusty sense of humor at the ready, hers was in full working order.