I don’t like going to the vaginas doctor. I also don’t know why I pluralize vagina when I say I’m going to the vaginas doctor. Maybe part of me feels better when I think of all the other women in the world who have their feet up in those stirrups sans bottoms at the same time. All of us, fighting the good fight against tyranny with our collective vaginas. That, or I’ve got a really bad lisp and can’t say vagina without that ‘s’ on the end. Who knows. The fact of the matter was my vagina had a doctor appointment today, and I had to take it to the doctor. This is an all day affair for me. Lots of preparation. If I think about it deep enough, and I usually do, I prep more for a vaginas appointment more carefully than I do if I know I’m going to bang. I say bang because I’m a classy, sophisticated lady who has banged many times. MANY.
I don’t know what the etiquette is for a vaginas appointment is because my mom never told me. She just took me when I was eighteen, and it’s been horrifying ever since. Like a lot of ladies, I’ve made it a little less awkward on myself by picking a female doctor for my vagina. The idea of a dude using that interrogation spotlight that they like to flash into your vagina makes me curl up into a ball and roll under my couch and die there. Why is that light necessary, and is it really necessary to have a hot bulb so close to your babymaker? Why not diffused lighting like they used to give Barbara Walters? Make it all gorgeous. There is no reason in the world to examine it that closely. None. It’s bad enough I had a lady staring deep into the abyss of my feminine secrets. I don’t think I’d be able to hold it together if a dude doctor was staring at my lady Brigadoon.
Once I was in the waiting room, I had to fill out a shit ton of pointless forms. The receptionist handed them to on a clipboard with frilly lace and ribbons across the top and told me to grab a pen from the cup in a cheerful voice. I saw no pens. I saw only artificial flowers. OH! I got it, they were hiding their pens as flowers because they didn’t want anyone to steal them. Why else would they decorate them as fugly ass flowers and confuse their patients? I walked back to my seat armed with my giant flower pen and frilly clipboard with lace trailing along the floor. I think I was supposed to feel like a princess. That was the vibe I was getting from the lace and frilly streamers coming off the clipboard that I was now tangled in as I was trying to fill out all this stupid paperwork. I kept thinking that what they were going to do to me wasn’t very princess-like. Maybe they needed to rethink their waiting room theme. Then there was that dreaded cup the receptionist had given me. I always got flashbacks to the most humiliating visit I’d ever experienced at the vaginas doctor. I know that’s a hard concept to grasp considering all that goes on in that office, but trust me. What happened in the bathroom that day was a fresh level of hell.
I know the act of filling up the cup is upsetting by itself. I mean, how much is too much? Are they going to think something is wrong with me if I only fill it a little? Is this the right color? What is the right color? I often settle for the middle of the cup. You can’t go wrong. It’s not so little they could ask for a repeat performance, but not so full they question your overeager bladder. Anyway, after much scrutiny I green lit my cup for the tiny pee shelf behind the little door. I opened the door and it happened.
I made eye contact with the nurse on the other side of the pee shelf.
We stood there for a moment. Me with my not too full/not too empty cup, and her with a tray ready to receive the bounty of the pee shelf. My hand in the air, I realized she expected me to do, or say something. I did the only thing I knew to do – the wrong thing.
I put my cup on the shelf and said,
“careful, it’s hot”, and then slowly closed the door.
I said it and wanted to take it back immediately, but I just closed the door. Just closed it right on my poor life choices and pretended I was a dainty lady who never said gross things. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got, and to this very day when I go into the bathroom in the vaginas doctor and I open the pee shelf door I half ass expect to see someone standing there.