Friday, November 17, 2006

Gyno daze

Oh, lucky, lucky me, it's that time of year again. Time for the tit smash, the cold duck bill and the industrial-sized tube of lube. The reminder card has been sent and received and I'll make the call on Monday. Yes, Monday. I'm sure I'll dial the phone on Monday. First thing. Yep. I can't wait.

And since when do doctors send reminder cards? The only ones I know who do this are dentists and gynecologist. Dentists I understand. They are sadistic by nature and love nothing more than diving into your mouth with sharp sticks and drilling holes into your skull. You'd think full-time twat-lookers wouldn't be so eager to look at all manners of lady parts day after day. I mean, really, have you ever perched low over a hand mirror? It looks like an industrial accident down there.

I get into such a resigned mood when I have to do this. When I was a teenager and in my 20's it was no big deal. But the older I get the worse it is. You'd think it would be the opposite but noooooo, it's even more nerve-wracking now. Maybe because I know how crappy it's going to be or that for years and years I've manage to not rip one in the doctors face and I know my luck will eventually run out. Because then I will have to kill myself with a tongue depressor right then and there.

The whole thing is so bizarre. Hi, I don't know you, would you like to see my vagina? And it's bad enough you already have a paper gown on the size of a McDonald's napkin but when you finally put your feet in the stirrups they make you move down, move down please, move a little further, down a little more, just a little more, scoot just a little more. Until you're positively sure you're cooter is right on top of the doctors nose and your asshole is winking to the beat of My Sharona in anticipation of the big poopshoot invasion.

Nakedness, weird positions, boob handling, finger bangs, spreading legs, gallons and gallons of grease, and not even dinner first. WTF?

Ever since I was diagnosed with cancer I have to get mammograms too. Now that is an experience. Hi, I don't know you, would you like to fondle my tits? Someone asked me once what it felt like and I instructed her to take her top and bra off, lay down on the floor of the garage, get her husband pull her tits across the ground as far as they will go, then slam the garage door down on top of them about 5 times each. That's about it.

The first time I had the pleasure I told the technician, "listen, lady, I like it rough but this is ri-goddamndiculous." Thankfully she laughed. I tried that same joke last year on another tech and Atilla the Bunned didn't even smirk, and I think she pinched my nipple on purpose.

But we know how important it all is. Women have to stay on top of these things and take control of their health because most of the money is going to the drug research companies making sure dicks can stay hard for 3 straight years and to perfect the transfer of knuckle hair into head hair. But that's a soapbox for another time.

So, we all know it sucks and you walk out of there leaving snail tracks down the hallway, your boobs spend a little time looking like a flesh-cake, and a virtual stranger gets intimate with your crinkle star, but you gotta do it, alright? You GOTTA DO IT. Take care of your pussy, don't be one.

I am calling on Monday.

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