Christian Dad
I got to go to my annual exam this morning. Yes, ladies, that annual exam.
I made sure to shave my legs this morning, even though I was wearing pants. Plus, I gave myself a pedicure last night. Nothing like seeing nasty feet with bad chipped polish on the toenails up in stirrups to really make you wish you were somewhere else. Like you didn't wish you were somewhere else already.
My doctor is very nice. He's easy on the eyes and has no bedroom manner to speak of. My friend, who goes to the same office I do, always hated him and was ticked off when he got called in to deliver one of her babies. Until she started having problems. She said he looked at her, told her that they were going to get through this and she believed him--had total confidence that he could see her through. Totally competent, with absolutely no personality.
When I first started going there, we met in his office to chat. Big walnut desk. Dark, man-colored walls. Wooden blinds. It was kind of like the team owner's office in The Natural. Lots of pictures of his family. And little pieces of his kids' artwork.
Plus some lovely cross-stitched pieces obviously made for him by his family members. He has these hanging prominently for all to see. Some ladybugs hanging out together. A sleeping puppy. I think one has a stethoscope. There is obviously a progression of skill pictured here in these works of stitchery. And, my favorite: a blue and white tie, knotted, that he obviously got as a birthday or Father's Day gift. It has a motto stitched above it. More on that later.
So the exam begins. I get weighed--the best part first. Then blood pressure and the presentation of the laughingly-named "gown." Then the doctor comes in and we proceed apace.
I cannot describe to you the utter horror I face every year. It is always there, about five minutes into the actual exam. After the piece-of-meat breast exam. Before the big ticket item.
"So. How's your love life?"
I've fallen on my ass in the middle of a bar while on rollerskates. I've tripped down stairs during my first week of junior high. I've accidently sprayed bleach into my hair, thinking it was water, and gone to school, only to later realize that I had bleach spots all over my cool Coca-Cola shirt. I've been on stage, singing in front of a hall full of people, and forgotten every word to the song. Even worse, I've been drunk and sang karaoke in front of a bar full of people--and it was videotaped. And, while I've never asked a fat woman when she was due when she wasn't actually pregnant, I'm sure that day is coming.
I understand that he's trying. I understand that, technically, that information falls within his purview. However, there is no point lower in my life as an unmarried woman than having to discuss past boyfriends with a guy who's got a cross-stitch of a tie with the motto "Christian Dad" hanging in his office.
I made sure to shave my legs this morning, even though I was wearing pants. Plus, I gave myself a pedicure last night. Nothing like seeing nasty feet with bad chipped polish on the toenails up in stirrups to really make you wish you were somewhere else. Like you didn't wish you were somewhere else already.
My doctor is very nice. He's easy on the eyes and has no bedroom manner to speak of. My friend, who goes to the same office I do, always hated him and was ticked off when he got called in to deliver one of her babies. Until she started having problems. She said he looked at her, told her that they were going to get through this and she believed him--had total confidence that he could see her through. Totally competent, with absolutely no personality.
When I first started going there, we met in his office to chat. Big walnut desk. Dark, man-colored walls. Wooden blinds. It was kind of like the team owner's office in The Natural. Lots of pictures of his family. And little pieces of his kids' artwork.
Plus some lovely cross-stitched pieces obviously made for him by his family members. He has these hanging prominently for all to see. Some ladybugs hanging out together. A sleeping puppy. I think one has a stethoscope. There is obviously a progression of skill pictured here in these works of stitchery. And, my favorite: a blue and white tie, knotted, that he obviously got as a birthday or Father's Day gift. It has a motto stitched above it. More on that later.
So the exam begins. I get weighed--the best part first. Then blood pressure and the presentation of the laughingly-named "gown." Then the doctor comes in and we proceed apace.
I cannot describe to you the utter horror I face every year. It is always there, about five minutes into the actual exam. After the piece-of-meat breast exam. Before the big ticket item.
"So. How's your love life?"
I've fallen on my ass in the middle of a bar while on rollerskates. I've tripped down stairs during my first week of junior high. I've accidently sprayed bleach into my hair, thinking it was water, and gone to school, only to later realize that I had bleach spots all over my cool Coca-Cola shirt. I've been on stage, singing in front of a hall full of people, and forgotten every word to the song. Even worse, I've been drunk and sang karaoke in front of a bar full of people--and it was videotaped. And, while I've never asked a fat woman when she was due when she wasn't actually pregnant, I'm sure that day is coming.
I understand that he's trying. I understand that, technically, that information falls within his purview. However, there is no point lower in my life as an unmarried woman than having to discuss past boyfriends with a guy who's got a cross-stitch of a tie with the motto "Christian Dad" hanging in his office.
posted by Miss Head at
9:27 AM
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