Well, not that kind. And not every year, because I'm a terrible patient.
So, I'm getting ready to go to the doctor. And it's a little nerve wracking, because I'm not really accustomed to getting those parts of me ready for a viewing.
So I decide that shaving my legs is a good idea. Because otherwise the doctor might not know where to begin. But then I put on lotion and wonder if it was a mistake because it was pretty smelling lotion.
And as I'm getting dressed, I find that I care immensely what shoes I'm wearing. Not because I'll actually be wearing them, but because I'm worried that my feet will stink. And he'd think that something died in my lady parts. And well, ew.
And I wonder. Do gynecologists have a great sex life or a terrible one? Great because they know where all the important stuff is? Or horrible, because when they come home and the end of the day and their lady is feeling amorous, they just think, "Oh, no, I just can't look at another one today."
And my mom always says that you can tell how long the wait is by the quality of the magazines in the waiting room. If they're really good, you won't have to wait long. If they're bad, you're in for a long wait. True to form, I settled down in the waiting room with a big fancy decorating magazine and they called my name. I threw down the magazine with high hopes, then got back to the exam room and there was not a magazine in sight. And I waited. And waited.