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Here's what I find amusing...
Men spend a better part of their days thinking about one thing. Start up a conversation regarding sex, women's underwear or any combination of the two and you have their undivided attention. Throw in a detail or two of your latest pap test and they are running off to a dark corner to vomit. Fickle creatures they are...
Anyway, I go for the dreaded exam and tolerate all the usual preliminary questions. I hardly know you, but yes, I will tell you about my latest menstrual cycle. That is not a fun conversation. I can try and act all nonchalant, answer your questions as if we are discussing the weather, but we both know this is seriously weird. This dude is getting paid to ask questions that in any other context would be considered sexual harassment.
So we finish the chit chat and he leaves me with a "gown" that is better described as an overgrown paper towel. I focus all my energy into trying to imagine the cute little sponge pockets commercial but it doesn't help. I am heading full force into a panic attack. I know I only have a short amount of time before he knocks on that door and the charade of this lovely little visit is destroyed. So I hurry out of my clothes as if they were on fire and neatly tuck all under garments inside the leg of my pants. This guy is about to get elbow deep in my business and I am worried he's going to see my bra lying there. Yeah... now THAT would be embarrassing. Why do I feel the need to hide it? Would I rather have him believe I don't wear a bra? Or maybe he's read my previous blog about the black bra incident...
So I scurry up on the table trying desperately to somehow look dignified and cover my ass with this delightful paper ensemble I have been provided with. For extra measure... they have given me a larger paper towel to put on my lap, because that makes me less aware of the fact that all that is separating myself from him is a thin layer of recycled paper. Nice try.
I sit waiting... my hearing has now gone super sonic as I strain to hear any encroaching footsteps. I sit perfectly still so to not make crinkling noises, because again, THAT would be embarrassing. He finally returns with of course the mandatory nurse in tow. Why not? Let's sell popcorn and have an audience!! I realize she is there to prevent any law suits, but seriously... this whole experience is about as sexy as a senior home dirty dancing class. Yep, not really into hitting on the doctor at this juncture. So he does what he needs to as the nurse and I engage in mindless chatter. This makes the entire thing completely enjoyable. I imagine we are just sitting at a coffee house having a pleasant conversation. Except that a man I hardly know has his hands in places I'm pretty sure they aren't supposed to go and has asked me to "skooch down just a little". To top it off he didn't even have to buy me dinner first. What a rip off.
I survive the ordeal and leave his office as if I were fleeing a crime scene. I am free once again! I enjoy the rest of my day trying to repress the memory of the days earlier adventure and return to a fairly normal train of thought. Have coffee with a friend and head to the grocery store to buy the bread I needed and pretend that was my only errand that day.
Fate of course could not allow this.
I am paying for my groceries trying to be normal, when who is in the line behind me... you guessed it... Dr. Cold Hands. I don't care who you are... there is no way to have a conversation at a check out with a guy who just touched your cervix...EVER.
