....but i'm not

Monday, November 19, 2012

Peters and Undercarriages

I'm extremely modest.  I blush saying the word penis or vagina or any version of the two and I still do the "if your hands hit below your dress hem line you are kind of skanky today" rule.

Love her or hate her, this is definitely a similarity between Zooey and me (click here and watch this short video for deeper insight)...

Pretty sure it started when I was really little and would confuse the words "bikini" and "vagina."  Like the time I went to the grocery store with my mom and yelled "Look mom, that lady's wearing her pagina in the gwocewy store!"  It's one of my mother's favorite stories and if you are a stranger on the sidewalk and talk to her for more than 4 minutes you are bound to hear it.

In every scenario our dads would consider this sense of modesty a good thing...except our dads never had to figure out how to slutify A-cups into a zookeeper or Hillary Clinton costume in college.

My modesty is no more apparent and debilitating than at my annual (and now that there's a baby on the way) monthly appointments at the lady doc.

I'll paint a mental picture for you:  The nurse comes in, tells me I need to put a robe on, I inevitably put the robe on backwards, I lay down on the freezing cold table and crinkle up that stupid paper and then freak out because I think some of my skin touched the actual table, I think about but most certainly do NOT put my legs into those terrifying stirrups until I absolutely have to and then I wait for this to happen...

Doc knocks on the door, I never know if I should say "Come in!" or "I'm naked!" or "Ready!" so I usually just mumble, she sits down in her chair and says,

"You can move down on the table a little further...keep going....ok you have about two feet to go...alright another foot...ok legs wider...wider...another 6 inches...a little bit wider."  And eventually she just gives up.

Once I'm in the correct position, I become the person who talks about everything but vaginas at the gyno.  I ask her what her Thanksgiving plans are. I ask her how her parents are doing.  I tell her about my Christmas bonus and how many pairs of socks I'm going to buy with it.

And then somehow I make it out alive.  Every single time.

So the last time I went to the doc for my monthly baby check up to hear the heartbeat, I was bound and determined to not let my modesty make me the most awkward person in my O/B's appointment calendar.  The door opens, she walks in, sits down on her stool, and I confidently pull down both my pants AND underwear.  Suck on THAT, bikini!

And you know what she says?

"Oh it's ok, you can leave those on today."