Friday, February 13, 2009

Oldie But Goodie: Valentine Topic Extraordinaire

Every year I stress over this damn man. I prepare for the visit, lay awake thinking about it, and go through horrific rituals to make myself acceptable. And yet, every year I breathe a sigh of relief that he only takes minutes and it's over. (He's the only one that can get away with that.)
So I got up early, showered, scrubbed, shaved, powdered, lotioned and preened until I felt as fresh and flowery as a freakin Easter morning. I would see him early enough to be relatively unsullied, though I wished it were first thing, before I had a chance to sweat or mud wrestle or anything.

What I did NOT plan on was the untimely need to take a dump.

Mind you, I won't go into details about THAT, except to say it was your average dump, and nothing to think twice about on a normal day. If it weren't for my unreasonable OCD-like qualities and an excessive fear of inadequate wiping (followed by the infamous "shit-stain") – the moment would've past unnoticed.

However – in less than an hour – a man would be thoroughly examining my crotch, and the last thing I wanted was for him to know that I was the one that stunk up the work bathroom today.
So, as I undressed in the exam room, awaiting his impending invasion, I grabbed a couple wipes from the bottle of Wet Ones on the counter, and just to make sure I was pristine in all areas, gave myself a quick once-over, chucking the wipes in the biological waste basket when I finished.

As I washed my hands, I noticed a little tingling between the butt cheeks. Within seconds….the tingling was more like burning…and then altogether anal combustion. Dancing and squirming to the counter, I picked up the wet ones, only to realize they were not what I thought. Apparently, the nurses thought it would be funny to stick the sanitizing crap they use on the "equipment" and hard surfaces on the counter, where anybody could easily mistake them for Baby Fresh scented wipies. However – the sign of the baby's bottom with a big X through was not obvious until I investigated the container, whining slightly from the bonfire that was my ass.

Panicking slightly, I threw it back on the devil's counter, and yanked a handful of paper towels from dispenser, ran them under the faucet, and slid them between my buttocks. I washed my hands again, forced back tears, and got some more to dry off with.

Only by the grace of God and The Quicker Picker Upper did I manage to calm down and slide on my mask of innocence when Doc arrived. I was nervous that he'd noticed the redness, and inquire as to what I was doing that would irritate my bunghole so dreadfully. Or that the strong chemical odor would tip him off that I was a little loopy.

I managed however to distract him with my wit, and insistence that I was exempt from breast self-exams because any growth would be clearly visible to the naked eye. Everything went smoothly, and I have gladly made it another year without somehow impregnating myself.

Maybe next year, I'll just skip the shaving part, and assume the hair will cover any leftovers I missed. My advice to you?

Make sure if you stick something in your butt – you read the label first.


Ta Da.

2 comments:

Wow, that was awkward said...

Trouble typing while I'm laughing so hard.

Periodically Consistent said...

Is that like trouble shooting while screaming at your PC?