Well I made that one up, but it seems to fit the situation. (I'll work on the maitai).
Yesterday, The One Who Shall Not Be Named Because She Does Not Want to be Published in This Blog went to her GP complaining of abdominal pain. You saw that it might be kidney stones, but it ain't. I swear I'm the best doctor I know: I diagnosed muscle strain from square one.
But what does her GP do? Tell her to go to Emergency. Oh, thanks, Doc! You're going to refer me to a higher power, is that it? What, where did you get that tinsel-chest of doctor medals, ya fuck? Are you truly a doctor or do you just play one at Cinq-à-sept trolling for women at Weinstein & Gavinos?
Go to Emergency! Hey, I could have come up with that one, Doc! Does that make ME a doctor? I'll just print out some fake diplomas like YOU seem to have all over your wall -- it's really no trouble! I'm happy to do it! Then I can pass myself off as a neurosurgeon! I have higher aspirations than you, Doc! I do brain surgery! You send people to Emergency.
Anyway, She Who Must Not Be Named languishes in my favorite place -- Emergency -- since 8 a.m. It's now 3:15.
Let's all raise our hands now, folks, and say a Hurrah! for all the quacks and cranks out there, people! Cheer, cheer, cheer! It might be you there one day.