When I began my quest to share my life, my experiences and my thoughts through this blog, I made a promise to myself and my readers that honesty and ‘realness’ would always be my top priority. I believe people relate to real life, they can smell falseness as easily as they could a burst sewage pipe.
I have been fortunate enough to have received many comments from my lovely followers saying they have identified with things I have written about, whether it was a funny piece about my dogs or my pet peeves, or more personal, serious pieces about my depression and relationship. It gladdens my heart to know that my words have struck a chord with someone. I have made real friendships as a result of some conversations sparked by a comment left by a reader on WP or Twitter.
So… in the spirit of entertaining you and ‘keeping it real, man’, I present to you todays silly story from my life… in all its ridiculous, humiliating and T.M.I. glory.
I hope it makes y’all smile!
The letter arrived… the letter surely all women dread. The smear test is due.
I know of no woman who is happy about making this particular appointment, but it is a necessary evil. A few minutes of discomfort and embarrassment is favourable to the possibility of an undetected cancer cell lurking deep inside.
Am I alone in making sure that I am ‘presentable’ for my appointment? I would never dream of rocking up unshowered, with my lady-garden untended to!
I wonder about the various shapes, sizes and styles of lady parts the nurse sees on a daily basis. I’m sure she encounters many groins she needs to search, ‘David Bellamy-style’, foraging through the undergrowth to reveal the hidden opening. Conversely, she is probably familiar with every possible intimate grooming style, ranging from completely bare, landing strips, patterns, vagazzle, dyed, pierced, tattooed… I am running out of ideas here, innocent that I am!
The day of my test arrived. I showered, (probably for longer than usual, to be honest!), ensured everything was neat and tidy and fit to be seen, put my pretty underwear on… oh yeah! I pull out all the stops!
Lying on the inspection table, naked from the waist down under a towel, (“how many other pubic areas has this been draped over?” I ponder uncomfortably), I engage the nurse in casual chitchat to break the awkwardness of the moment. She is friendly and I start to relax.
She lifts the towel, instructs me to assume the position, adjusts her spotlight, shining it directly up between my spread-eagled legs, and peers at me. I blink and keep my eyes locked on the ceiling. I hear her rip open the plastic cover of the speculum and, from the corner of my eye, see her apply a generous blob of KY Jelly to it. She is back at the end of the table, her head dipped between my thighs, once again having a good old look.
“Oh!” (NOT a good exclamation to hear coming from someone at your nether regions during a pelvic exam), “Wow! You are very small aren’t you?” her head pops up to look at my face.
“Um… I don’t know… am I?” I stutter, feeling ever so slightly mortified.
“Oh yes!” she starting to sound a but excited now… “You’ll need a much smaller speculum,” and she trots off to find the super-small instrument.
Returning to her position between my legs, which are starting to feel cold and ache ever so slightly from being spread wide open for this delayed period of time.
Usually when they are in this position I am, how shall I say this? a tad more active!
She readjusts her spotlight, (“all the better to see you with my dear” …no, she didn’t actually say that), and begins the examination properly.
“Yes…. You REALLY are extraordinarily tiny! So very tiny…” she marvels, as if I am rare and exotic creature.
I lie there thinking, “Jesus! Can you stop?!”, “Should I say thank you for the compliment? Say I’ve never had any complaints? That the OH is a very lucky man?”
I feel the uncontrollable urge to giggle and bite my tongue to stifle it. This has developed into an awkward enough situation, without me howling like a hyena while she has her fingers on my fucking vulva…
It is finally over. She replaces the towel, (I’m still pretty concerned about the hygiene aspect of that), and attends to the paperwork of the test, sealing my contribution in a plastic tube.
“You will need to remember to say next time that you are so very small, ok?” she chirps.
As if I’ll ever forget this encounter!
Walking home, I make a mental note to inform the OH that he is indeed a lucky man… I’m honeymoon fresh!
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