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A Visit To The Gynecologist

Image used under a Collective Commons License from https://www.flickr.com/photos/onthewhiteline/21962713832A visit to the gynecologist is never a pleasant experience I’m sure. As a man I can only equate it as being similar to having a prostate exam or maybe having a tooth filled.

Anyhow, this story about a visit to the gynecologist is fairly old now I’m sure, but it’s also hilarious, and some of you ladies reading this just might have had a similar experience, who knows. In any case, be prepared for a good laugh.

In Melbourne, Florida, one of the radio stations paid money ($100-500) for people to tell their most embarrassing stories. This one won hands down:

I was due later in the week for an appointment with the gynecologist, when early one morning I received a call from his office. I had been rescheduled for early that morning at 9:30 am.

I had just packed everyone off to school and it was 8:45 already.

The trip to his office usually took about 35 minutes, so I didn’t have any time to spare.

As most women do, I’m sure, I like to take a little extra effort over hygiene when making such visits, but this time I wasn’t going to be able to make the full effort.

So I rushed upstairs, threw off my dressing gown, wet the washcloth and gave myself a wash in “that area” in front of the sink, taking extra care to make sure I was presentable.

I threw the washcloth in the clothesbasket, put some clothes on, hopped in the car, and raced to my appointment.

I was in the waiting room only a few minutes when the gynecologist called me in.

Knowing the procedure, as I’m sure you all do, I hopped up on the table, looked over at the other side of the room and pretended I was in Hawaii or some other place a million miles away from there.

I was a little surprised when he said, “My, we have taken a little extra effort this morning, haven’t we?” but I didn’t really understand what he meant and didn’t respond.

When the appointment was over, I heaved a sigh of relief and went home.

The rest of the day was fairly normal. I did some shopping, cleaning, prepared the evening meal, etc.

At 8:30 that evening, my 14 year old daughter was getting ready to go to a school dance, when she called down from the bathroom, “Mom – where’s my washcloth?”

I called back for her to get another from the cabinet.

She called back down, “No! I need the one that was here by the sink. It had all my glitter and sparkles in it!”


Image used under a Collective Commons License from https://www.flickr.com/photos/onthewhiteline/21962713832

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