Day 8 - Goodbye, Four Leaf Clover.

Day 8, People.  The Month of Blogging streak is unbroken.  It will be hard next week, as I am traveling to Ohio for a hooker convention and will be...ahem...BUSY.  But I ain't quittin you, Wifers!

So tomorrow I have a pap smear, which by it's very name sounds gross, and it's one of those days where you want to look decent because COME ON.  Someone has to stare into your very soul via your hoo-ha, and you sort of hope there isn't any unsightly hair or bruises and your stomach isn't flopped out on the table on your side.

One of my best friends since fifth grade (yes, someone has known me THAT long and still speaks to me!) is an OB-GYN and actually delivered my niece and nephew, and she's the one whom I alway refer to when I say I badger a doctor friend from high school for advice.  Although I think I was put on the ban list on her paging service last year when I called her service at night a little drunk and told them to tell her that "Me and Meem want to know why she isn't at the party!?!"  (But you were *supposed* to be there, Paige.  Don't make me go to extremes to get you out.  You did that to yourself.)

Anyway, OB-GYN friend says that they see EVERYTHING as far as personal hygeine and body decor, so don't worry about it because they don't see it or talk about it in the break room, which is nice to hear but I think is total BS.  If YOU saw someone's dealio shaved into a four-leaf clover or pierced with a safety pin, wouldn't YOU need to tell someone?  At least your therapist!  And let them talk about OTHER people (and please, God, let me hear it) but I don't want to be in the water cooler talk.  Therefore, I am shaving off my four leaf clover and taking the safety pin out. 

Today, I am walking past a big plate glass window at work that has a mirror effect, and I caught a glimpse of myself and thought, "Whose stomach am I carrying around?  Because THAT?  Is unattractive."  I blame Current Husband and that twenty pound bag of Peanut M&M's he brought home this weekend and forced me to eat at gunpoint.  And the beer and wine he made me buy.  And the ice cream and the shish kebob.  Do you hear me?  CALL THE POLICE, he is fattening me up for something.  Now I have to go disrobe for someone and explain myself.  Well, I probably don't HAVE to explain myself, but I'm sure I will.  It's what I do.

By the way - Happy Birthday Paige!  I'm having a pap smear on your birthday in your honor!  I hope there's theme cake afterward!