Best trip to the gynecologist ever!

Visiting a dude whose job is to stick his hand up your hooha is not my favourite thing – (unless that dude is my husband) – but I don’t dread it.  I don’t get all freaked out about it.  I usually sit back with a magazine while I’m waiting… sometimes I read during the exam.  Somebody has to stick their hand up there, right?  It might as well be a person who’s trained to do it. 

Although I do wonder why dudes become gynecologists.  It can’t just be for the free vaginas.  As a young medical student, I’m sure that in the abstract, having a day filled with women showing you their wares would be titillating and all… but in reality – I’m betting you end up getting a whole lot of wrinkly-ass vag in your face, and I’m pretty sure that not everyone weeds around the garden if you get my meaning.

But I digress…  My most recent trip to the “lady doctor” was fantastically satisfying.  It wasn’t like he gave me a leering grin and said “Oh, I like what you’ve done down here,” before he whipped out the Hitachi Magic Wand or anything…  He told me… wait, I’m still bursting with feminine pride here…  He told me… that I have a small uterus.  NEVER in my life have I been told that I have a small ANYTHING. And now it turns out I have a small uterus.  AND small ovaries.  Petite even.  For a gal who has been at least a size 10 most of her adult life – I never thought my incubator and eggs would be defined as small.  I blushed and said in a modest tone as I waved my hand demurely, “Oh, stop… you just say that to all the girls.”

So maybe that’s the trick, I just need to visit specialists who concentrate on the inner parts of my body.  Maybe my appendix, too, is diminutive!  I could have copies of an MRI kept in my wallet that I could take out when I’m feeling dumpy.  Yes, I may have armpit pudge, but look at that spleen!!