The other day I was at the gyno for my yearly visit. This is just something we gals have to do, and it’s good for us. I add that last bit because I know a couple of chicks who haven’t been to the lady-business-doctor for years, and y’all, that ain’t right. We alone are responsible for taking care of ourselves and ignoring that responsibility can be downright tragic. So to all my gal pals, I say this: get your coochie and your boobies to the doctor already! End of sermon.
So I was at the office. I have to tell you – I go to what may be the best women’s care facility in Los Angeles. And most of the patients – myself included – are just regular folks. The rest of the patients, however, fall into the category of supermodel. It isn’t that I’ve recognized actual faces or anything. It’s just that when a 6-foot, drop-dead-gorgeous chick is in the vicinity, you can safely assume she’s better known than most of us will ever be. And while the majority of beautiful girls are probably also beautiful on the inside, every now and then you encounter an entitled, narcissistic jerk. One such chick walked into the office when I was there, shortly after my arrival. She lazily approached the reception desk and in slow valley-speak said, “Um. I have to be on the west side at 3:30, so I need this appointment to only take an hour. Can you make sure that happens?” The receptionist gently told her the appointment could take longer, since this was her first time at the office and there would be multiple patient in-take forms to submit. The receptionist then said something about the issue of the chick being late. In response to that last bit, the slow-speaking chick said, “Um. My appointment was at 2 and I’m only a couple of minutes late, so that shouldn’t be an issue.” It was 2:22, y’all. The receptionist pointed that out, but the chick was non-apologetic. She pretty much insisted the receptionist accommodate her. I heard the receptionist sigh and the chick sat down and started talking loudly on her cell phone. Did I mention there are signs all around the office requesting all cell phone calls be taken in the hallway? No? The chick certainly didn’t seem to notice the signs.
My appointment wasn’t scheduled until 2:45. I had gotten there a bit early and thought I had time to read a magazine. But there must have been a cancellation or something, because just as the super-model’s phone conversation began, a nurse called my name. I smiled as I walked back because I knew there was no way that chick was getting out in time for her west side engagement. I mean, don’t mess with the receptionists. They’re the friggin’ gate-keepers, for cry-eye.
Anyhoo… I happen to adore my gynecologist. She’s very straight-laced and utterly professional. I trust her and respect her. She’s far more proper than I, and our demeanors could not be more different. So I guess I was a bit surprised that as the examination ended, I received the greatest compliment I’ve gotten in ages. The doctor looked at me and said, “You have a lovely uterus.” I told her I’d be sharing that comment with absolutely everyone I know.
And now you know.