One sunny morning, an elderly lady, wise and sprightly despite her eighty years, found herself in an uncomfortable predicament. She had developed an irritating itch in her nether regions that would not go away, no matter how many times she scratched or dabbed with creams. Finally, deciding that it was time to seek professional help, she gathered her courage and made her way to the local doctor’s office.
Sitting in the crisp, sterile waiting room, she fidgeted nervously, clutching her handbag as other patients shuffled past. When her name was called, she slowly walked into the examination room and, with a mix of embarrassment and urgency, confided in the doctor: “Doctor… I have this persistent itch in my crotch, and it’s driving me mad. Please… can you help me?”
The doctor, a young man with a somewhat mischievous twinkle in his eye, examined her carefully and frowned. “Well, ma’am,” he said, “it appears you have… crabs.”
The old lady’s eyes widened in horror. “Crabs? That can’t be right! I am an eighty-year-old virgin! I’ve never been with a man in my life!” she protested, her voice trembling with disbelief.
The doctor, slightly taken aback but sticking to his diagnosis, nodded sympathetically. “Hmm… I see,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say.
Determined to get a second opinion, the lady made an appointment with another doctor. This time, she explained her symptoms in painstaking detail, her face flushed with both embarrassment and hope. The new doctor, a middle-aged woman with an air of no-nonsense authority, listened carefully, then shook her head. “Based on what you’re describing, it sounds like you probably have crabs,” she concluded.
“No, no, that’s impossible!” the lady replied firmly, stamping a delicate foot. “I am an eighty-year-old virgin! There is no way I could have crabs!”
Frustrated but undeterred, she decided to try one last doctor, the one whose reputation for thoroughness was unmatched in the city. She explained, once again, her troubling itch, emphasizing in no uncertain terms: “Please, Doctor, do not tell me it’s the crabs. I am an eighty-year-old virgin, and it cannot be the crabs. You must help me figure out what this is!”
The doctor, a cheerful and patient man with a sense of humor hidden behind his stethoscope, smiled and said, “Alright, ma’am. Hop up on the examination table, and let’s take a proper look.”
After a careful inspection, the doctor leaned back, a twinkle in his eye, and proclaimed: “Ma’am… you are correct. You do not have crabs.” He paused for dramatic effect, letting her heart lift with relief. Then, with a gentle chuckle, he added, “No, what you have… is so rare, it’s almost poetic. This cherry is so old… you have fruit flies.”
The lady, though initially confused, could not help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. At eighty years old, life still had a way of surprising her—even in the most unexpected places.
