* Part 1 of this story posted yesterday. If you missed it, you can click here to read it. *
Dr. Mary Sunshine situated herself on my right side to begin a breast exam. She lifted my right arm to position it properly over my head, but my right arm won't move in the direction she needed it to. She frowned. I explained. She changed her technique to accommodate my bum arm.
As she palpitated my breasts I stared blankly at the ceiling. I once had a GYN who put funny posters on the ceiling above his exam tables. They were a nice distraction and usually a good conversation piece. I dared a downward glance at my bionic nipples. As always, they were alert. I wondered if post-breast reduction boobs feel different during an exam? I wondered if she was appraising the skill of my breast surgeon? I wondered if she thought my alert nipples meant I liked the breast exam a little too much?
Did I mention, my brain was going 500 mph due to my anxiety over the entire appointment?
With the breast exam complete, Dr. Mary Sunshine smiled and said, "Scoot on down!" with so much cheerfulness I was tempted to slap her. Reluctantly, I slid my feet into the stirrups on each side of the table and slid my booty body down the table.
"A little further please," she said in her sing-songy voice as I heard the snap of rubber gloves being put on her hands.
With dread in every ounce of my being, I scooted further down the table. To say I felt a little exposed is an extreme understatement.
I saw the doc glance at my cooch and then do a double-take and look again.
"The Brazilian," I thought to myself.
She didn't comment, but clearly she knew things looked different than last year.
I'm pretty sure I was blushing from head to toe at that point. I wonder what a blushing Brazilian-waxed hoo haa looks like?
I will spare you all the embarrassing details of the next several minutes, but I will say there was an extreme amount of lube involved. Also? Dr. Mary Sunshine warms her speculum's prior to inserting them into cooters. She also covers the stirrups with fabric so they aren't ice cold on your feet. (She is an OC doctor after all!)
Kudos to Dr. Mary Sunshine.
Once the exam was completed, the doc cheerfully announced, "Well, you can get dressed now and I'll see you again next year!"
She handed me a pantyliner and exited the room.
Now, this is where things started going wrong. I glanced at the pantyliner. The intention, of course, is to preserve panties from all the lube she just inserted into my va-jay-jay. The problem, however, is I was wearing thong panties and a regular pantyliner won't work with a thong.
I wasn't sure what to do with the pantyliner in my hand. I could throw it away, but if Dr. Mary Sunshine saw it in the trash she would think I was rude, ungrateful, and/or that I like the feeling of a gallon of lube dripping out of my cooch. (Same thing if I left it sitting on the exam table.) I hadn't noticed where the pantyliner came from and there were several drawers and cupboards in front of me.
I considered opening them all until I found the one holding pantyliners. I could sneak the pantyliner she gave me back into its original location. (It was individually wrapped and still sterile.) I was worried, however, the nurses or doctor would hear me opening and closing cupboards and drawers in the room. What if they walked in to find me naked and pillaging through their cupboards?
It might look like I was trying to steal pantyliners (or other items) instead of politely refusing the one she gave me.
Yes, I know I was way over thinking this whole dilemma, but I get very out of sorts at my yearly poon peek.
Finally, I tossed the pantyliner in my purse. The doctor would assume I used it, I wouldn't get arrested for stealing pantyliners and all would be right with the world.
(Maybe I should have known better than to put anything in my purse. I once had a very embarrassing incident occur as a result of putting a pair of panties in my purse.)
Nonetheless, at this point, I just wanted to get out of there and go home. Have I mentioned it was now 6 p.m?
I got dressed, I exited the office. It was raining.
I checked my phone and saw there was a message from my 14 year old son. I called him as I was getting into my car. He wanted to know why I was taking so long.
"What kind of appointment were you at?"
And, he wanted to let me know he was starving and, "What's for dinner Mom?"
I told him I'd pick something up on the way home.
I hung up and called Wood Ranch restaurant with a to-go order. It had been a long day. I was more than ready for it to be over.
Thirty minutes later, I arrived at the restaurant. I went to their take-out desk and gave Hawt 18 Year Old my name. He gathered my order and informed me how much money I owed.
Well, by now you can probably guess what happened. I pulled out my wallet and the pantyliner went flying out across the take-out counter. In fact, it not only flew across the counter, it fell on the floor on the other side of the counter where Hawt 18 Year Old stood.
It was a classic "24" moment.
Hawt 18 Year Old didn't realize at first what had just gone flying past him.
I did though. I felt my face flushing a deep shade of red.
Instinctively, he reached down to retrieve the slightly crumpled item he'd seen fly from my purse to his feet.
As he extended his hand to return it to me, I saw comprehension wash over his face. He blushed.
He returned the pantyliner to me. He kept his eyes averted as he rang up the charges for the food.
I paid. I also intentionally over-tipped him as a means to make up for his, and my, embarrassment.
"Here you go," he said at last (still averting his eyes), as he handed me a bag with our food in it. "I hope you have a very nice evening."
I mumbled a quick thank you.
And then, I do believe I ran right out the door.
For now until eternity, Briefcase will be in charge of picking up to-go orders from Wood Ranch.
© Twenty Four At Heart