When I was working at the Accident hospital, I lived with two doctors in Kings Heath. It was a lovely house, nice big terrace, with a lovely big bathroom.
Something I noticed shortly after moving in was that the 'proper' keyhole lock for the bathroom door didn't have a key, but it didn't matter, cos there was a bolt higher up. The other thing which nipped at my OCD tendencies was that at least one of the doctors shaved in the bath, and would leave the mirror on the end of the bath - which meant that every time I'd go in there I had to move the mirror back to its proper place above the sink.
Living with doctors was a bit of an eye-opener. Rob (I'll call him that, for that was him name and he well deserves this particular name-and-shame) was doing obs and gynae. As women, we assume that doctors see us as pieces of meat and aren't perving over us. This is not true. Rob would talk about working in the 'teat clinic' and doing 'TUBEs' (Totally Unnecessary Breast Examination) elsewhere. One time when he was discussing this sort of thing at a party, I said I felt very lucky that he hadn't perved on me.
'You're joking aren't you? I thought you knew?' he said
'Knew what?'
'I've been trying to see you in the bath for months, but you always move the mirror. It takes me ages every time as well, checking the angle from the keyhole.'
O.M.F.G!
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