Giddyup!

It's tradition that I blog about my annual visit to the doctor to get checked under the hood, as MathMan likes to say.  I do this to show solidarity with my fellow females who also should be going for this slightly messy, slightly embarrassing and very important annual check up.  I also like to remind the males here that the whole turn your head and cough thing?  Cakewalk.

And we all have rectums so there's nothing to argue about there.

I'm a bit chagrined to tell you that I'm two months late with this annual visit and I still have it to look forward to on Monday.  Until then, I will just have to revel in the sweet anticipation of getting felt up, mashed, starved, finger-banged and sucked of my blood. That sounds like a fetish menu, doesn't it?

Here's some good news along the lines of credit where credit is due - I am now IUD free.  Once the insurance was sorted, the doc's office made an appointment right away et voila!  Today's visit wasn't with cute-boy doctor J with whom I normally visit.  This procedure was handled by the more seasoned Dr. Dubya.  Yeah.  I am convinced that there is not a single liberal doctor in this town so I'm stuck.  This is the practice where I once got into it with the front desk staff because she refused my request to turn down the volume or turn off the TV blaring Fox News.  I was the only patient in the waiting room at the time.

I'm certain that the choice of channels isn't so much to entertain or inform that patients.  It's a political statement.  But what's a chick to do?  Drive an hour plus to Atlanta to show her vagina to strangers?  Not unless I'm getting free drinks and big tips, my friends.

Even so, I try to be pleasant.  Our conversations go something like this:

Him staring into the abyss:  "So I see your uterus has dropped a little more."
Me:  "Really?  Wonderful.  I still can't afford the copay for surgery to have things removed and rejuvenated."
Him:  "Well, just try not to sneeze or cough too much.  Or laugh.  I guess I won't tell you anymore Obama jokes."
Me:  "Well there's the silver lining.  Tell me, though, if something does happen, will it look like a bowling ball falling out of me or what?"
Him:  "More like a tennis ball.  Smaller than that even."
Me:  "Fine.  I assume you'd like me to just tuck it back in and call for an appointment."
Him:   "Only after you've washed your hands."
Me:  "Well, of course, I'm not going to go stuffing my uterus back into my vagina with a pair of dirty paws."
Him:  "I meant you can wait until after you've washed your hands to call for an appointment."
Me:  "Why don't you go back to the Obama jokes."
Him:   "By the way, I like what you've done with the landscaping."
Me:  "Oh, I thought you'd like that."
Him:  "Yes, the landing strip is so 1998."
Me:  "Agreed.  And a nuisance to maintain."
Him:  "So how did you get it to look like that?"
Me:  "The Fox News logo?  There's a template for it on their website."
Him:  "You're kidding!"
Me:  "Yes, I'm kidding."