Friday, Apr. 23, 2004 - 2:41 P.M.

Recently I visited what we women commonly refer to as the �female doctor.�

Like most women, I loathe that visit. Listen, I am not about laying it all out for anyone. I mean, it�s a clinical setting. I should somehow feel a little more comfortable about the fact there isn�t a man about that I�m trying to impress (or, at the very least, that I not send him shrieking from the room) with my naked body right? But, you know, it should just really be easier than it is (at least to me). Maybe the waiting room could be equipped with an open bar? Perhaps a little valium when you sign in, in the manner of the mints at a restaurant cashier�s stand? (By the way, don�t eat those. Ever.)

I have a female �female doctor.� I must. I know what I�m about to say has been said before, but can it be said enough? Exactly what does a man know of fallopian tubes, endometriosis and periods (other than that they keep him from having sex)? Not much. Most of the men I have ever known struggle to find any of the female areas right and proper. Except the breasts. You guys totally know where those are. Kudos to you gentlemen. Do not mistake this for male bashing, though. I am absolutely not. I love men. I do think there are things men should do for women. For instance it�s important that a man help you with chores and the children. It�s important that a man make you laugh and make you cocktails. It�s important to find a man you can lie with who won�t lie to you. It�s important that a man love you and spoil you. And it�s imperative that these four men do not know each other.

Anyhow, Doc and myself, we�ve finished with the icky and we are at the question and answer portion of the visit. She asks if there�s anything on my mind and I say, �I think you would know �cause I think you were just touching my brain.� NO! Kidding! I jest!

I say, �I�ve got this bump on my arm that�s been there awhile. It hasn�t changed color or shape, it�s just annoying and ugly.� She peers closely at it and says this to me, and please, keep in mind, we�ve just finished with the icky, �That�s a fatty cyst. It won�t hurt you. We can have it burned off if it really bothers you. I�ve got two on my leg.� Then, she continues as she�s laughing, �I�d show them to you, but I didn�t shave my legs today. That�d be kind of embarrassing.�

Um. Say what now? Come again?

She�s just, well, you know what she�s just, and now she won�t show me her legs for fear of a little stubble? She delivered my children y�all. She�s quite familiar with me is what I�m saying. I�m just asking for a little leg. C�mon!

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� Purplecigar

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