Whatssup Doc?

Warning to all male readers! Clang! Clang! Clang!: Female stuff ahead.

Note to all Gynecologists out there:  Please don't tell your patient that you think she might have an STD until you get the results back!!

So here's how it all went down.  I finally followed through on my promise to go and get everything checked out this year.  Boobs, Butt and Bunnykins.  Boobs are fine, I have them checked every year.  Butt's dandy too, not due for the next voyage up the old poop chute (sorry, don't know what's come over me this morning) for a year or two.  After my last colonoscopy, my doctor proclaimed that I have the colon of a fifteen years old.  One of my smartass "real" friends told me I should give it back.

But the Bunnykins, well, the poor thing hasn't had a good looking over in about 4 years and it's been through some changes. 

MENOPAUSE!

 Hey, you there, you nasty bitch with your dry withering lips and your parsimonious precipitation, I will not let you steal this one last guilty pleasure of mine.  Okay, I have two guilty pleasures, ice cream and sex, sometimes a combination of both.

And you can't have them!!

So girls, you know the drill and the position.  The doctor's down there with the sheet over her head, like one of those old times photographers trying to get the best shot.

Her:  "Do you itch?"

Me: "Not in public." (Not really. I said, "Uh...no...")

Her: "Have you had any discharge?"

Me:  "Uh...no..."

Her:  "No green, smelly discharge?"

Me:  NO! (Hell, it's been like the Sahara Desert down there. I think I would have noticed.)

Her:  "Hmmm...You know my husband is a gynecologist too.  And one time he sent me off to a conference for a week.  When he got back, he didn't want to be with me.  Then I found out he had a girlfriend.  But now I am just concentrating on the good things. (Imagine this in broken English because this was in Mexico.)

Now imagine this: Me, legs spread, thought bubble floating above my head.  Why is she telling me this?  Poor her, she obviously can't get past this if she tells a brand new patient all about her husband's affair.  Boing!! Light bulb!

Me:  "What is it you think is going on down there?"

I see her shoulders shrug under the sheet.  Then her breezy reply floats up.

Her:  "I thought you might have  Trichomoniasis, but you said you didn't have green stinky discharge, so no worry. We'll know in a week."

A week!!!  Whattt???

Okay, I'll cut to the chase.  The test results are in and  I do not have Trichomoniasis, which is a sexually transmitted disease.  I never really thought there was any possibility that I did.  I knew that I hadn't done anything and I was pretty damn sure that the cap'n hadn't done anything, but you know what they say, "Do you ever really know another person?"

Let's just say it was a week of hell and suspicion and ups and downs and both of us eyeing each other as if we were strangers and then reassuring each other with, "God knows what you can catch off the toilet seats down here."

The test results came back fine, just some minor abrasions because I'm still a living breathing sexual being, dammitall, even if it is dryer than nuclear winter down there.

Now what does all of this have to do with drinking?  Well, there were a few times I might have thought,  God, I could really use a drink right now.

But I ask you, what in the above scenario would have been made better by getting drunk.  Use your imagination here.  Me, drunk, pointing a snarly one-eyed finger (yes, I know fingers don't have eyes, but I'm drunk remember?) at the cap'n.  "You dirty, rotten sumbitch!  I knew I should have listened to my ex-husband about you."

Nuff said.