Another year, another trip to the gynae. Christ. I fuckin’ hate the small talk. Some dude has his fingers up your love tunnel, and you’re chatting about how your mother’s slipped disks are being treated. The boob mashage. The uninvited invasion of rubberised fingers. The teeny, tiny, barely there Biggie-fukken-Best gown. The Buzzy McTwatprobe.**
I thought that was bad.
Excuse me while I’m crushed into one imploding atom of excruciating embarrassment.
For just when I thought it could get no worse….
[WARNING: do NOT read further if you are easily horrified]
…I forgot to remove my tampon….so he had to do it for me.***
*In Afrikaans, you get a tandarts (dentist) and a veearts (vet)… so why not a poesarts? Work it out. Thanks LB, you funny boy.
**Thanks Dais. I actually laughed in the office when he lubed up “the instrument”. Chose not to explain.
****Did I just share this with the whole interweb?***
****I did, didn’t I? The mortification continues.****
*****the amount of wine I’m going to need to imbibe to get over this? Oi!