"Dr. House? You're needed in exam room one." Dr. Lisa Cuddy looked at Dr. Gregory House with a look of impatience. "In fact," she continued, "You've been needed in there for twenty minutes. That poor man had been waiting for that long. And what have you been doing? Watching your soap? Thinking about nothing?"

House popped a Vicodin into his mouth and chewed it, enjoying the bitter taste. "I have IN FACT been sitting here wondering if you can wear a lower-cut shirt. Then maybe even I'D want to work," he remarked, eyeing her full chest. She was wearing a v-neck which left a bit of cleavage to please his eye.

"NOW House, or I'll be forced to write you up for a suspension!"

"Wow, now I'm REALLY scared." Dr. Cuddy slammed down the patient's file onto his desk and glared at him. Sighing, House grabbed his cane and limped after her.

"I'm Dr. House," he greeted in his usual monotonous way as he opened the exam room's door.

"I have a problem," said the young blonde woman. She was clutching her chest with a strange look on her face.

"You are wearing an ugly expression on your face," said House calmly. The woman looked at him with an insulted look. "Oh, sorry, I thought we were having a state the obvious contest."

"Wha…?" The woman was confused.

"You said that you have a problem. This is totally obvious as you are at a doctor's office. Or were you just here to bring me flowers?"

"Are you always such an asshole?" she asked.

"Are you always such a whiny priss?" was his answer.

"Just tell me what's wrong with me," she sighed, exasperated with Dr. House's rudeness. "I got breast implants six months ago and the left one is significantly smaller than the right one. They used to be the same size."

"Saline or silicone?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. It sounds as if you ruptured your left fun bag. If the implant is silicon, we need to do x-rays and operate immediately. The silicon sticks to bones and joints and hardens, causing damage. If the implant is saline, all that is is salt water. You'll be fine, but you'll need an x-ray to confirm."

"I RUPTURED an implant? My husband is going to kill me—these cost him four grand!"

"Aw, poor thing. Guess hubby won't like his lop-sided wife now. Allow me to refer you to a surgeon to even them out. Sa-line or si-li-con?" House asked slowly.

"Saline," she grumbled.

House scribbled on a paper and handed it to her, and then he limped out of the room, leaving another insulted patient.

Two days later, a strange man came into House's office. "What did you do to my wife?" he demanded. "I spent an arm and a leg to get her boobs all delicious and you go and tell her that she needs to have the implants removed?"

"Well, first things first, you're a pig. Second thing is, I didn't TELL her to get the implants removed. I told her to get them evened out—the left one broke."

"Broke?"

"Yeah, BROKE. Popped, ruptured, bye-bye."

"I'll kill her," muttered the man. He turned and walked out of House's office. House popped a Vicodin.

A week later, the blonde woman and her husband were both in his office. "I got them removed and now I have an infection!" she cried.

"Then why aren't you in the exam room?" asked House. She ignored him.

"Give me a prescription!"

"Yeah, fix her. They're infected and I can't do fun things to them anymore!" cried the husband.

"Even if they were healthy you couldn't do fun things to them because as you said, they're TOO SMALL naturally!"

"What's wrong with a man wanting heavy boob action in bed?"

"Am I IN this conversation?" asked House loudly. He handed her a prescription sheet and pointed his brown wooden cane at the door. "Leave," he said," and take your sex and marriage problems with you. The bickering couple left the office leaving House by himself to watch his soap and toss Vicodin in the air and catch it in his mouth.