Hospitals are depressing,
They have that certain smell.
I never like to go there,
Especially when I’m well.

I would also have to say,
They won’t be my first pick,
Of where I want to visit
Even when I’m feeling sick.

What I really hate the most
Is not Doc’s probing hand.
It’s not my system shutdown,
When my skin meets cold bedpan.

Shots, and probes, and awful food,
Of these I seldom care.
It’s those stupid little gowns
That the nurses make me wear!

Southern Exposure is a poem that makes light of the most terrifying thing faced by the fashion conscious hospital patient, the hospital gown. I’m six foot six, the hospital gown is made for someone less than five feet tall. It is the only piece of clothing, that I know of, for which they have to post charts on dressing room walls showing you how to put one on. The manufacturer has been able to cut production costs by using just enough material to come within three inches of meeting in the back, that’s if you’re on the thin side. When you stay at a nice hotel, you often hear the manager complain about people liking their hotel furnished robes so well that they forget and pack them in their suitcases. Have you ever heard of anyone stealing a hospital gown?