The Worst Thing About Going To The Gynecologist

I totally deprived you guys of this wonderfulness.  I started it and never finished.  Here's what I had.


The worst thing about going to the gynecologist is that, after the whole thing, you technically end up buying her dinner.

Also The Boyfriend calling her the vaginologist isn’t that great either.  A nice thing about this trip, though, was that she surprised me by telling me they only do pap smears every other year now so this year I drove an hour to Newark to wait thirty minutes in the waiting room and another thirty minutes naked save for a paper gown and socks on a table in a cold-ass exam room, fanning my vagina which had conversely broken out into nervous sweats just to have a midwife come in and stick a finger inside me for about half a minute.  I feel so used.

The best thing about the whole experience was that she told me, “You’re funny” about seventeen times.  AND I didn’t even have to use any of my utterly hilarious gynecological humor on her that I’d spent the earlier week coming up with.  I felt only a little cheated not getting to ask her any of the questions I’d been mulling over while she cranked open my nanner so as to distract myself like, “How do my labia compare to other labia?  You know, aesthetically speaking?”