Being a girl, I have to have these appointments where a trained professional is (I assume, based on how it feels) elbow deep in my hooha, scraping & shoveling my inner lady bits with barbaric pieces of cold metal. For those of you who have not have had the pleasure of a lady bit scraping, it's exactly as enjoyable as it sounds.
I have no clue what else goes on down there because I spend my time sending my most specialest friends a pic of the top of gynecologist's head between my sheet-covered knees with the caption "Guess where I am".
When I see her brace her feet against the wall and hear grunting coming from the direction of those hospital-white sheet-covered knees, I wonder if I'll leave with the same parts I came in with. I prefer a "don't ask, don't tell" policy with my gyno though: if I don't ask, I can beg her not to tell me what she does. It works for the 2 of us.
I was in my gynecologist's--the Lady Bits Doctor--office, checking in with the receptionist. As the receptionist took her sweet time asking such essential questions as my date of birth, address, & secret question, I went through the basket of stickers on the receptionist's desk. They were all animals; monkeys, lions, dogs, blah, blah, blah.
Just as the receptionist turned her back to get a piece of paper out of the printer behind her, I saw The Sticker. The one that made me laugh out loud. I put my hand over my mouth and looked around to see if anyone was staring at me or at The Sticker in my hand. Thankfully the baby behind me was crying loudly enough that I'm pretty sure my laugh just mingled in with it.
The Sticker Refiller Person really needs to pay attention to the stickers they are ordering before putting them all into the basket. A little discretion here would go a long way to helping people like me, people that have tiny 13 year old boys in their brains controlling their sense of humor, to not look totally ridiculous while looking at a sticker.
|Not the only clam in |
the gynecologist's office.