Milkshakes

Greeeeeat... Apparently, my love muffin is, or was, due for a scraping.  Awesome.  No, really.  I think every gal just loooves getting her cooter scraped by someone they hardly know.  Let me see a show of hands:  Who here likes going to the Gyno?  Bueller?  Buuueller?  No one?  No?  Huh.  Crazy.  No one is raising their hand because it fucking SUCKS.  It sucks worse than the first time you had sex.

Geeeawwd.  So, in case your rather large and intelligent head hasn't figured it out by now, I had to go get a Pap Smear.  I know it's a good and proper thing, getting it done-- it's nice to know your body and to keep up on early signs of cancer and all that happy horseshit.  But when she says "ok, strip from the waist down and cover up with this über fashionable over-sized paper towel" and leaves the room, that's when shit gets uncomfortable, every.single.time.  So there I am, covered in goosebumps because for whatever reason those type of exam rooms are always freezing-- it's like being in a meat locker and she's trying to keep flies away from my meat curtains.  Awesome fuckin' sauce.  I can't imagine that the goosebumps on my bits are attractive--I think of a half plucked, raw chicken.   

Anyway.  I'm in the freezing meat locker, covered in a paper towel, and she comes back in.  And I try stalling, every time.  I ask questions, tell jokes, shoot ping pong balls out my asshole, whatever it takes.  I act like a circus freak just to keep her from snapping on those rubber gloves and asking me to "scoot forward till your bottom hangs off the end."  Ack.  It never works.  They can see through my charade and it never gets me anywhere.  But I always try anyway.  I just LOATHE it-- and why is it that every office has oven mitts to cover up the stirrup things for your feet?  Can't they come up with something better than that?  What do oven mitts have to do with the burger buffet between my legs?

At any rate.  You gals all know the drill.  This time, though, the gal donned a fucking head lamp.  A head lamp?  Really?  And it was the kind that you'd wear, you know, HIKING.  At NIGHT.  It made me feel like she was about to go spelunking in a cave.  Which, I guess in a way, she was. 

After she spelunked all up (er, down?) in my bidness, she said the only thing I imagine that could ever give a gal a sense of pride in an otherwise graceless and degrading situation:  "Hm..Oh my honey, I'm having a hard time finding your cervix because it's so TINY."

Woah, wait.  Hold the fucking phone.  ME?  A TINY CERVIX?  Are you sure you have the right vagina?  I might've picked one up by mistake on my way here this morning.  Sucked that sucker right up with the black hole that is my, um...gently used lady parts.

So me and my new, extra vagina went home glowing that day, with the knowledge that I finally know what my milkshake is, and why it brings all the boys to the yard.