In the hushed, wood-lined waiting rooms of a modest suburban clinic, a peculiar medical case was quietly taking shape—one that would soon become the favorite topic of neighborhood gossip. It all began one Tuesday morning when Mrs. Higgins, an imposing eighty-year-old woman known for her razor-sharp wit and uncompromising morals, decided she could no longer tolerate a certain relentless discomfort.
Mrs. Higgins was widely respected as a model of propriety. She had lived her life with dignity, never married, and proudly declared herself a “maiden lady” in every possible sense. Yet for several days, she had been tormented by an unbearable itch in an extremely private area, one that no amount of talcum powder or medicated soap seemed able to calm.
Her first visit was to Dr. Miller, her trusted family physician of over thirty years. Calm and practical, he listened carefully as Mrs. Higgins described her symptoms with as much restraint as she could manage. After a brief examination, he adjusted his glasses and spoke gently but plainly. “Mrs. Higgins,” he said, “you appear to have pediculosis pubis—commonly known as crabs.”
Mrs. Higgins shot upright, clutching her purse defensively. “Crabs? Doctor, that is absurd! Such a condition belongs to the immoral and the reckless. I am eighty years old and a virgin. I have never even shared a milkshake with a man, let alone engaged in scandalous behavior. Your diagnosis is impossible.” With a dramatic huff, she stormed out, leaving the doctor staring after her in stunned silence.
Despite her stubborn pride, the itching refused to relent. Two days later, she sought a second opinion from Dr. Stevens, a younger physician with a reputation for modern thinking. Once again, she explained her situation, stressing her lifelong chastity. His conclusion matched the first. “The signs are textbook,” he said gently. “It’s likely crabs—possibly contracted from a towel or shared surface.”
“I don’t use public restrooms, and my towels are bleached beyond recognition!” she snapped. “I am an eighty-year-old virgin, and I will not be told otherwise.” She left with her chin raised high, though her restless tapping in the elevator betrayed her misery.
By the weekend, exhaustion and frustration had taken their toll. Desperate for answers, Mrs. Higgins made an appointment with Dr. Abernathy, a renowned specialist famous for solving unusual cases. Before he could greet her properly, she laid down her terms.
“I’ve already seen two incompetent doctors who insulted my character,” she declared. “I will not accept a diagnosis of crabs. It is morally and physically impossible. If you say otherwise, I will leave immediately.”
Dr. Abernathy smiled calmly. “Mrs. Higgins, medicine relies on facts, not assumptions. Let us examine the situation properly and discover the truth.”
Relieved to finally be taken seriously, she agreed. The examination was conducted with meticulous care. The doctor inspected closely, using magnification and patience, before stepping back and removing his gloves.
“Well?” she demanded anxiously. “Was I right?”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, Mrs. Higgins. You were absolutely correct. You do not have crabs. Your virtue remains intact, and my colleagues were mistaken.”
She exhaled in profound relief. “Thank goodness! I knew it. But then what on earth is causing this dreadful itching?”
Dr. Abernathy leaned in, his face perfectly serious. “It’s quite rare,” he said, “but understandable. After eighty years of untouched preservation, the fruit has aged so thoroughly that it has begun to attract insects. Mrs. Higgins, you don’t have crabs—you have fruit flies.”
There was a stunned silence. Then Mrs. Higgins burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the hallway. After a lifetime of guarding her virtue, it had finally aged into something else entirely. She left the office armed with a prescription, a restored sense of pride, and a story she would one day delight her bridge club with—proof that even at eighty, life still has a sense of humor.