Freeloaders can't be choosers

So I’ve been here four days and have already agreed to some of my parents’ strange requests, they being so accommodating and all. My dad’s decided I’ll be an invaluable member of the crew that will be installing a new, underground irrigation system in the pecan orchard. It’s going to be about three weeks of work, and as per Gary, I can work whenever I have the time. It’s a nice offer, as I’ll be paid for my most likely lackluster efforts, but the thought of doing farm work again makes me really nervous. I was never a “natural” the first time around, but at least then I could blame my utter ineptitude on youth.
My mom has recruited my services in a much more passive role. I’m going to be her guinea pig for her nurse practitioner class on physical examinations. The experience will culminate with the two of us driving to Lubbock, where the examination—I’ll be fully clothed. A condition of acceptance, naturally—will be videotaped and performed in front of her professor and a practicing physician. Two days ago we practiced the first part of the exam, in which my liver was palpitated, or, as my mom says, puh-aall-pi-ta-a-ted. Today’s exercises included a medical history interview. The hi/lowlight? When she asked if I ever had “black tarry stools.”