The other day I went out to a nice dinner with a group of girlfriends from work and, naturally, the conversation migrated exactly where you would expect it to in a restaurant with plush chairs and $17 glasses of wine: wild sex. And hello, B's mom, nice of you to stop by today.
And, of course, it was only inevitable that our discussion would lead us down the path to the lady doctor topic because when you're sharing va-jay-jay stories at the fancy dinner table you might as well go all the way, no? And if you're a lady, you inevitably have a lady doctor story. Because how can you lie in an examining room with someone's hand up your hooha and not have a few things to talk about regarding that particular hand and/or hooha?
And this is the part where B shuts his laptop exasperation because I'm talking about my vagina on the Internet again BUT AT LEAST I'M NOT POSTING PICTURES. Because that would be so gross. Unless that's something you're into, in which case I can totally do it.
Anyway. The lady doctor. I usually get all awkward and try to make some jokes because it just feels so wrong to go all the way to third without much of more than a hello. And I suppose humor isn't really the way to go when your feet are in stirrups or IF YOUR DOCTOR HAS NO SENSE OF HUMOR because that just usually makes it that much more awkward. Like telling jokes on stage when no one in the audience laughs and also you have no pants.
And this is the part where all the men who are reading this are getting a little uncomfortable because this is not turning out to be the type of post they had originally envisioned when they started reading and stirrups? Really?
And the last time I was in for a checkup I got all awkward when the practitioner kept asking me to move down. A little bit more. A little bit more. So I started babbling about how we used to make fun of my friend in college because she hated whenever we said the word scoot because it reminded her of the gynecologist because that's the word her doctor would always use to get her to move down the table. Scoot scoot. And the lady totally didn't get it and how can you even try to explain a story that's already awkward to begin with because you're talking about how awkward you feel at the gyno to the gyno as she's digging around down there?
After reviewing this post, I'm pretty sure talking about visits to the gyno should totally be off the list for things that are acceptable to blog about.
In other news, it's March 2 and Jesus is totally punishing me by dumping six inches of snow on Philadelphia right now. ENOUGH WITH THE WINTER CRAP ALREADY. But I guess you know what they say about March: In like an asshole and out like an asshole because March still fecking sucks.