Mint-green latex catsuit and the nurse nobody is ready for

Mint-green latex catsuit… and suddenly, I don’t feel sick anymore

It’s ridiculous how fast priorities change. One second, you’re imagining a quiet hospital hallway, that dull smell, people minding their own business; and then the redhead nurse walks in wearing a mint-green latex catsuit, and the whole place forgets what it was doing.

I mean, if she were my nurse, I’d probably start questioning whether I even want to get discharged.

“Doctor, I think I need another check-up.”

No explanation. No symptoms. Just… precaution.

Holding that spray like it’s part of her routine

She lifts the disinfectant spray so casually, like this is just another day, another patient, another room to “clean.” Except nothing about it feels ordinary. She probably found out that you have a dirty mind around her…

The short white latex medical gloves make it even better. That clean, precise look, as if she’s operating on a level of expertise that remains entirely invisible to you. And the moment she sprays that fine mist into the air, I can already picture patients pretending to cough just to keep her around.

You’d have guys suddenly remembering injuries they never had.

“Yeah, I think it’s… somewhere around here. Or maybe lower. Hard to tell.”

Meanwhile, she just stands there, completely immune, probably hearing the same nonsense every day.

Black high heels in a hospital? That should be illegal. Or mandatory

Those black high heels… That’s where things stop making sense in a wonderful way.

Hospitals aren’t supposed to feel like this. Are they? No, they’re not supposed to have that curiosity, that weird mix of admiration and confusion.

But there she is, walking through corridors like she owns them, like the rules adjusted themselves the moment she stepped inside.

And now I’m imagining it: if I were sitting in one of those rooms, waiting, bored out of my mind, and I heard those steps getting closer, I don’t think I’d even check my phone anymore. I’d just wait.

Because whatever she’s about to do, say, or not say, it’s definitely better than anything else happening in that place.

I’d probably forget why I came to the hospital

There’s always that moment where reality tries to come back.

“You’re here for a reason.”

Right. Sure. But then she’s there again, the mint-green latex catsuit that pulls your attention back, the spray in her hand like some strange little ritual, and suddenly, that reason doesn’t feel very important anymore.

I’d probably leave that hospital more confused than when I entered. Not worse. Not better. Just thinking about her more than I should.

So now I’m curious: if she walked into your room, would you actually tell her what’s wrong, or would you just hope she stays and keeps wearing that latex catsuit?

Shiny hugs and love,
Diana