So next week I have the dreaded “appointment”. You know the one. It involves a cold table, something resembling a putty knife, a dr saying things like “I’m almost done” or “Try to relax” and all of your humility completely gone by the time you leave the building. Don’t even get me started on the stirrups.

I don’t do these appointments well. Never have. A bad experience when I was fifteen years old and I’ve never been the same. I usually end up sobbing with the doctor looking over the sheet asking me if I’m ok.

Yeah, I’m ok. This is fun. Just how I wanted to spend 20 minutes out of my day. While I’m laying spread eagle on this lovely metal table with the thin sheet of paper protecting my ass from the germs of thousands of other asses that have been in this same position – lets talk about my feelings.

Hurry the fuck up already.

Oh yeah. I dropped an F bomb.

In the giant list of things I don’t do well – anything gyno related and dentist related are top two. My hubby and I were talking about this last night. He was talking about how he can totally relate. That his dreaded “procedure” involves his dr feeling his hoohas.

Yes, I used the word hoohahs. Because I did a post about ’sheep ba*ls’ once a while back and it gets a Google hit every other day. And kind of creeps me out.

Anyway, how on earth does that compare. You stand there, the dr does a quick touchy feely and you are done. There are no swabs, no foreign objects, no glances over your knees and no contraptions from the middle friggin ages.

And I’m betting the dr does not ask him about his feelings.

Oh, and I’d like to see him put one of his hoohahs into a vice like machine where its squeezed beyond anything natural and photographed. Yeah, its my fortieth year and my time has come.

There are times when being a girl just – sucks.

I appear to be a bit angry eh.

hehe

And this concludes my far, far TMI post.