Womanhood.

Today, I went for my yearly "well woman" exam... you know, the gynecologist's. As usual, it was a blast. I have a new doctor, since I am officially a California resident now (complete with license and health insurance). He's this funny old Jewish guy that I picked because he had a fun website (the best way to find a doctor, you know). The exam was fine.. I've got perfect blood pressure, there was no comment on my weight, and he was over the moon I don't smoke.

The exam took a little turn for the weird when he decided to chat with me while I was still in my paper gown. First, he turned off the florescent lights because I mentioned they can be migraine triggers. That was nice of him, but they aren't automatic triggers.

For those that haven't had the excitement of going to a gyno - you are given a paper vest that is worn backward, and you lay a sheet over your lap. I'm sitting in my paper tuxedo while my gyno steps on his soap box about how terrible it is that NH sells liquor on the side of the road. No, I don't have any statistics if NH has a higher rate of drunk driving accidents (though that is a good question). Please let me get dressed, nice old Jewish man, I have to get to work.

Then, on his way out, we shake hands again, and then.. he gives me the fist bump.

You know, like this...




This is my reality.