Trust me, I’m a search engine

It’s about time we officially welcomed Dr Google into my family and other characters. He does house calls during IVF treatment, any time of day or night.

With his glowing yellow hair and his promise of omniscience, I always invite him in for a boiled egg or three – even when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with me. There’s just something about his open arms, his unlikely lips.

“Ask me anything,” Dr Google says.
“Why is your hair so yellow?” I say.
“It is styled with organic eggs.”
“Why are your lips so red?”
“They are glossed with Tuscan tomatoes.”
“Why are your trousers so green?”
“They are sown from the seeds of Wimbledon grass.”
“Why are your boots so blue?”
“They are made from the Mediterranean sea.”
“Doctor Google, are you telling me the truth?”

He gazes at me across the kitchen table. He spoons a whole golden yolk into his magnificent mouth.

“Brrrring, brrrring,” he says.
“Why are you making that sound?”
“Brrrring, brrrring.”
He puts on his stethoscope headset and holds the chest piece to his lips.
“Dr Google here, feeling lucky?…Man on all fours under desk, you say?…Woman shaking phone?…Kids on bed, playing iPad frisbee?”
“What’s happened?” I say.
“Wifi crash on Rectory Road. Must dash.”

Dr Google reaches into my makeup bag. He pulls out my Lancome L’Absolu Rouge lipstick. He applies a coat to his lips. He pulls a flashing blue light from his pocket and straps it to his heart-shaped head. He pelts downstairs, making siren sounds.

“Same time tomorrow?” I call after him.