Queen Nina

After I posted on Facebook about Nina telling Audrey she smelled like poop, our friend, Colleen, told her daughter, Julia, the story as an example of how words can hurt people's feelings. 

After relaying the story, Julia said,  "Oh yeah, I believe it. The last time she (Nina) was here with just Audrey to play, she threw a Chapstick at my head because I wouldn't call her the Queen.  It really hurt."

Sweet. Jesus. Nina...

gyno humor. I dare you to read this.

Ladies, only you can truly appreciate what I'm about to share. Laugh with me. Cry with me. Then remind yourself to say "No, thank you," when your gyno asks if a student can attend your show.

Disclaimer: may contain material that makes males squirm.

There I was, at the gyno, butt-naked, save the paper open-faced "shirt" and 3x3ft piece of paper on my lap. It's one of the most vulnerable positions you can be in. Right?

I take a lot of care in how I position myself in said papers, on said table/bed thing. Open-faced shirt is drawn closed, secured with my left hand. Paper square on lap is pulled around either side of me and then semi-secured with gentle tucking just under my buttocks. The tricky part is pulling that shitty paper towel thing juuuuust enough to hide your butt crack because your back is never to a wall, of course.

Now that you get the setup, here's what happened...

Doc enters, shakes my hand, and asks politely if I mind a student joining us. Doc points to a sign they have in the room about how his practice is assisting blah-blah school with education, etc. Always wanting to seem calm and cool, I say, "No, that's fine." I'm, of course, crossing my fingers and butt-crack for a female, but I should have known that that wouldn't be the case. Not for me. Ever.

Doc says, "I'll bring him in." I reply, "Ok," with a smile and a line of sweat forming on my upper lip.

Please be old. Please be really, really unattractive. Please be so geeky that it's obvious you don't give a shit what my vajay-jay or face look like.

Again, not in the cards for me today.

The KID was in his early 20s, blonde hair, hip glasses, and clearly uncomfortable to be meeting me, too. I wanted to high-five him, talk music or arts and get my paper-clad ass out of there. But, alas, I remained calm and cool.

Now it gets awkward.

Doc, "So, it says here you started your period today?"

Me, "Yep." (mortified)

Doc, "Well, we won't need to do a pap (I breathe a huge sigh of relief) We'll just do a pelvic exam."

Eff. Me.

So for the next 15 minutes of Q&A, I speak as fast and succinctly as I can. I just want to get the hell out of there. I can't even look at the kid standing 2 ft from me. And for those of you who know me well, it won't surprise you that I cracked a few witty jokes that my very professional doc did not find amusing, and since I wasn't looking at the kid, we just all fell into awkward silences. I need to wear a shirt that reads, "If you make me uncomfortable, I will be forced to crack jokes. It's what I do."

Finally we get down to business and doc starts the breast exam. Female nurse now enters so the show is really beginning. I offer to pop popcorn and, again, there's silence. Dammit.

Then doc moves down yonder, kid moves to join him. Awesome. I stare at the wall...anything...besides my audience. Doc says, "Now, this is what a normal cervix looks like." Uncomfortable Kid takes quick peek, says, "Ok," then (bless him) moves back to his position 2 ft from my head/bed.

It's almost over.

Doc does more (ahem) thorough pelvic exam, hits a sore spot that elicits a scream from me. He replies, "I don't think that's a cyst on your ovary, I suspect it's just stool in your colon."

YAY. Now we talk about poop, too!

I'm going to faint. Please leave.

And, finally, I assure him I have no further questions and they leave the room. I still don't look at the kid. No. Way.

I dress, exit quickly (but not before going the wrong direction, only to be led back in correct direction by nurse), and call Britt. "OMG...wanna hear about the most mortifying gyno experience ever?"

Of course she did. And now you have, too. It's your lucky day.

Goonies

Audrey and I are watching Goonies, thanks to Michael. 15 min into it and she's had questions about penises, drugs, cop chases and whether or not she can use the word shit. 

Very educational Thanksgiving break so far.

four ladies bowling

Bowling. Audrey fell, Nina nearly put a hole in the floor and i was a brainfart away from telling the guy next to me that his "balls have a wicked spin." I shouldn't be unsupervised.

watching the fock at night

Nina has a speaking part at her preschool holiday performance. Here's how she recites it (word-for-word):

(high-pitched voice) "They were in the same country shepherds biting in the field, watching their fock by night."

Calgon, take Nina away

Nina telling me why she wants to take a bath:

"First, I'm really sweaty. Second, I've had a long day. Last, I want some time alone."

She's 5.

8th anniversary and we can't get it off

Today is our 8th wedding anniversary. After having a great evening out, we put the kids to bed and high-tailed it to the bedroom. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's not like that.

Well, not yet, anyway.

Michael bought me a new dress; he couldn't wait for me to try it on. It's funny...he often buys me pieces of clothing and says, "I know it's a little outside your box, but just try it." Yet when I purchase something I think is outside my box and cute...and I've actually seen it on fashion blogs (I'm lying a little)...he's appalled and usually raises his eyebrows at me.

Back to the dress. Bear with me while I describe it, because I'm sure I won't do it justice. It's quite cute, but yes, outside of my box. The top is grey (my fave!) with a ruffle detail down the front (good), then the bottom, which looks like a separate piece, but isn't, is a blue, grey, black and red wool plaid.

As Michael anxiously awaits the fashion show, I examine the romper-for-a-30-something. No zipper on the back or side-- just lots of tiny buttons down the front of the "top." I undo the buttons and step into it.   Michael has a bit of a view and sees that I'm instantly in a pickle. The thing is never going over my hips. He calls out, "It's a medium, right?"

"Yes," I reply. "I just can't figure out how to get it on." I step out of it and throw it over my head. As I start to pull the skirt down, I realize my arms are completely stuck, straight up in the air. Now I look like E.T. Sexy for your anniversary night, right?

Nope.

I'm starting to panic because it's actually really tight around my chest. Michael hops up and tries to help, but I get a fit of giggles...partially because I'm nervous that we have to cut it off, but I'm also feeling extremely vulnerable because my arms are stuck above my head and I'm certain that if he tickles me, I'll stop breathing. I can barely breath as it is.

So as I "run" from him, saying over and over, "Don't tickle me, please. Don't tickle, don't tickle," he's trying to catch Wife E.T.

He stands in front of me, pulls my arms down, which means I'm totally bent at the waist (his ploy to have me bow to him?) and he's pulling hard on the dress. Doesn't budge.

Now I'm really laughing because I catch a glimpse of us in a mirror. Oh god. Really? It's only been eight years and we're already here? I'm in Hanes Her Way undies, trying on a dress that's obviously too  small for me and now I'm STUCK in it.

Finally, we get a shoulder out of it and I can breathe. I have red marks, though, to prove we struggled. When he frees me of the rest of it, he examines it because he's sure I've missed an obvious entry into it.

Again, nope. So he admits it's a crazy-ass garment and he'll be returning it to tomorrow. Whew. Now we can start over and have a nice night.

"Wait," I say. Just don't kiss my neck, I just put acne cream on it."

And just like that, I kill the mood for the second time that evening. Ahhh...wedded bliss!