I affectionately refer to my vagina as "Old Flappy." Somewhere
around twenty-three I woke up and she looked like someone who had lost a lot of
weight very quickly. Not unattractive, just diminished and with a little extra
skin hanging around. I don't always treat Old Flappy well. Hair removal
is sporadic and hastily done, usually in anticipation of a big weekend.
Being predominantly a hermit grad student yeti-monster, Old Flappy doesn't get
regular attention from the opposite sex and as such I get lazy about vag-doctor
visits. Consequently, I am a regular receiver of reminders that i'm
gynologically neglecting my nether-regions. Winter break spent in the arms of
the most gorgeous man I had ever called a lover (literally a French model)
busted Flappy's slump, and reminded me that if I was going to use her she was
due for a tune up. I signed the flapster up for a doctors appointment with my
normal university clinic and patted myself on the back for being so health
conscious.
"It's a cape," the gyno said to me. This chick was new, and
apparently her schtick was condescension and insult thinly guised as motherly
advice. She looked at me like I was a moron for not comprehending that instead
of a normal gown I was getting a front-snap half-cape. I was just as pumped as
the next girl to dress up as the twat crusader, delivering justice and monistat
to needy and naughty vaginas of the world, but the thing was not intuitive.
Gyno-troll returned as I lounged on luxurious vinyl and tissue paper,
contemplating my next act of genitalia superhero-dom. She started
"palpitating my breasts" which while she was in fact quite gentle to
me sounded more like pulverizing them into something like mashed potatoes.
Frowning, she made me sit up. "As you may realize, you have lumpy breasts,"
she said, again looking at me like 1) I am an expert on what other boobs feel
like and 2) would subsequently recognize the difference between mainstream
boobs and my defective set. "Its nothing serious, just a condition where
due to fibrous tissue, your breasts feel more like...large bubble wrap."
Vaginal villain just stared at me with a blank smile like I shouldn't be
affected by this news. As far as I could remember, no man had ever wished they
could feel a pair of tits full of lumps. "I love how your boobs feel like
firm bubble wrap"--said by no man ever.
My new gyno wrapped up the actual examination in five minutes. The post-vag
poking de-brief, however, was an excruciating thirty minutes of life
destruction.
Gyno-troll: It says here that you consume about ten drinks a week? Is that
still the case?
Me: Yes (Inner Monologue: at least two glasses of wine per night not even
counting the weekend outings)
Gyno-troll: hm. Are you familiar with the term "blackout?"
Me: yes (IM: I'm 27, and a law student, DUH)
Gyno-troll: have you ever experienced remorse for certain actions while
blackout?
Me: Uh, not really since college (IM: not counting running around my best
friend's house topless with a tupperware of spaghetti screaming "this is
fucking DELICIOUS," last saturday night)
Gyno-troll: well, I would suggest you cut down.
Me: haha yea (IM: when I'm dead probably. Also everyone else is lying about
how much they drink.)
Gyno-troll: Hows your diet?
Me: Decent? (IM: Reeses cups and wine for dinner is balanced, right)
Gyno-troll: Do you eat yogurt?
Me: yes (wtf- why?)
Gyno-troll: You'll need calcium as you get older so that's good
Me: (IM only: wtf Old?? osteoporosis isn't due for another 40 years at
least, lady)
Gyno-troll: we're done, thanks, here's a bunch of info on healthy diet and
IUDS.
I left a few minutes later, thinking Old Flappy had gotten poked, prodded
and peered at, but she'd gotten the better end of the deal. My new gyno
called me old, lumpy, and an alcoholic with poor eating habits.
Come and get it boys! lumpy and flappy, open for business.
