My Gynocologist is a B**ch

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.