Bring out the lifeguards

I know, I know, I should be neck-deep in endocrinology right now, but really, I've come home from an exhausting day where I had a three-hour long dissection with an assigned partner who is close to useless, in which I've been so intent on distinguishing fat from nerves that I've accidentally inhaled too much formalin fumes because I was thisclose! to the cadaver, leaving me woozy and my eyes stinging, my freshly-washed hair smelling of dead dog and preservatives, a belief that maybe I've fucked up on this assignment, no thanks to the useless partner who didn't bother to try and distinguish nerve from fat (hence cutting off an entire plexus, jebus help us), and thinking that this maybe means I will turn out to be a seriously crap surgeon, and is it so bad that I am watching reality show about lifeguards because they run around without shirts on and watching them splash in the surf, making their chests gleam? No, I didn't think so.