A Post About My Vagina, As If Your Day Wasn’t Weird Enough Already

I’m in a bad mood today.
A REALLY bad mood.
Fucking dismal.

There are a lot of reasons for this mood, many of which I can’t disclose, but the primary reason involves my inevitable date with a speculum at 6:30 tonight.

Ladies, you know what I’m talking about…
And men? Well, maybe you don’t want to continue reading today, and I wouldn’t blame you one bit.

Honestly, there is nothing worse than a visit to your ob/gyn. I mean, where else can you experience all of the awkwardness and discomfort of sex with none of the fun parts?

You go into this little room and take off your clothes, and they give you this weird paper mumu (open in the front, of course), and a thin paper “blanket” that’s supposed to help you maintain some sort of dignity but really only highlights the fact that you’re essentially dressed in a paper towel.

And then the doctor comes in and is all, “Spread ‘em.”

…and not in a sexy porn way, but in a strictly utilitarian way that involves elevated stirrups and instructions to “scooch your butt towards the end of the table.”

And then they tell you to relax.

HAH.

Hey, I’m as liberal as the next guy, but any woman who can relax whilst spread eagle in front of her ob/gyn (and nurse ‘witness’) should probably be checked for drug use.

Because there is NO WAY that a woman can relax when her bits and pieces are on display in that manner.

And then they get all up in there. Like, real close, face-to-face time with your vajeen. And they try to make small talk about the Phillies while digging for buried treasure in your woman area, and part of you kind of appreciates the distraction, but the other part of you is all, “it’s kind of hard to talk sports when you’re elbows deep in my crevasse.”

And then a third part of you is like, “maybe you should be paying attention to what you’re doing, seeing as you’re squeezing the bajesus out of my uterus and at some point, I may want to have children.”

And then a FOURTH part of you is making your grocery list, because you’ve kind of been there, done that and really, at this point, who in the tri-state area HASN’T seen your vagina?

Or am I alone in this?

So your ob-gyn is finally done with the “getting to know you” phase of the exam and breaks out the big guns.

He or she holds up a speculum in one hand a giant tube of KY in the other and says something like, “this is going to feel a little cold.”

And before you know it, you’re being violated by a metal duck bill that’s been slathered in goo.

So you’ve got the cold, slimy duck bill in your nether regions and you’re thinking to yourself, hey, how much more uncomfortable could this get? And then, just to prove you wrong, your ob/gyn OPENS the duck bill and suddenly you’re all, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, want to open that thing a little wider, doc? I can’t QUITE fit a basketball in there yet”

Because when your vagina is flapping in the wind for all to see, sometimes sarcasm is your only friend.

And then they stick a long Q-tip up there, and you don’t know exactly what they’re doing.

But your uterus knows.

And it objects.

But finally. Finally. Your doctor is finished.
The speculum is removed and they leave you to deal with the KY-slathered aftermath, and they never, EVER leave you enough tissue.

Because they want you to suffer.
Because they hate you.

And that, kids, is what is going to delay me from getting home until about 8:00 tonight.

Is it any wonder why I’m kind of in the mood to punch babies?