Nothing like a nice mammogram to start the day, right ladies? You will never hear one of us say that, EVER. I know they are important, and I know they save lives. That doesn't mean I have to like them. Nothing that takes your boob and smashes it into a flesh pancake will ever be something I enjoy. Some say that it hurts giant gazongas more, some claim it's the teeny ta-tas that feel the pinch. All I can tell you is, if you have boobs, it's going to KILL. The end. Notice that men do not have a comparable medical exam. They never walk into the doctor's office and get told to drop trou because today we are going to put your ballbags into a tortilla press and smash those puppies into a quesadilla. Not that I am aware...not being a man and all. But trust me, if that were to happen, it would be all over the news. Men everywhere swearing off modern medicine and hiding out in huts, shaking.
Tampons suck. They are uncomfortable to have jammed up inside you, they are awkward to insert, sometimes they hurt coming out, and if they are even slightly crooked...holy shit, there's no sitting down till you fix it. Yes, they do come in sizes. But they don't reflect the size of the owner's vag, oh no, they are designed with volume of liquid in mind. So, even if you are virginal in size, and you bleed like a wounded animal, you'll be wearing the ULTRA size. There's lite, regular, super, super plus, and ULTRA. Lite looks like a little pencil, and is probably the most comfortable to wear...and fuck you bitches who get away with it every month. Regular is more like a Sharpie and is also quite easy on the vajayjay. Oh, and fuck all of you who get to use those. Super and super plus are almost the same, honestly, and are more like a mid-sized carrot. This is where the discomfort begins. But then, oh dear Lord, then you have the ULTRA. This fucker is similar to having a paper towel roll with a rope hanging off the end jammed up in there, where nothing that big and dry should ever go. But those of us lucky enough to have a Dexter kill-room kind of period get to use them. And you wonder WHY we get bitchy?
Who here just loves a trip to the GYN? Come on, shout it out! Hmmm, not one hand raised, I see. Men, do you know why that is??? Lying on a table with the hospital gown open to the FRONT, with your feet in stirrups, being asked to scoot down to the edge of the table is only the beginning of the joys you get to experience during this visit. It's awkward enough having someone stick their finger up there as far as it will go and then pressing down on your lower abdomen, particularly with no kissing involved. But to have them tell you to let those knees drop and relax as they take the biggest, coldest metal object they can find in the room and stuff it up your hoo ha, takes serious balls. Relax, my ass. The speculum has to be a medieval torture device and women are fortunate enough to endure its usage yearly. Ah, the joys of womanhood. I haven't even gotten to the good parts yet. After they unceremoniously slide that wand of hell inside you, they grab another lovely device to swipe some of your cervix off. Yes, I know, it's called a Pap Smear. Have you seen what they use to collect the specimen? It ain't a Q-tip...it's more like a very long mascara applicator. That's right, a mini bottle brush. Don't anger or distract your doctor now, close your eyes and stay very still. Save the questions and chit chat for something safer, like the breast exam. For those of us over 40, we have the female equivalent of the prostate exam. Oh you betcha, they jam a finger right up there without so much as asking if you are into back door action. So, men, before you bitch and moan about your prostate exams, give thanks to your higher power that you don't have the accompanying exams that go along with OUR trip to the gynecologist.
I'll wager that not one woman will argue the elation we feel at the end of the day when the bra comes off! Bras come in all shapes and sizes, just like the load they carry. Some are more comfortable than others, that I cannot deny. However, at some point, they all start to feel like a strait jacket for your headlights. Constrictive and binding, eventually, a bra will start to dig, pinch, or crush your ladies. The creator of the underwire must have been a man because no woman would have chosen to put something metal under her yabbos that has the potential to poke out of its cloth shroud and jam straight into her skin. Nope, I promise you that is not how it went down. Another fine male creation.
Notice, men do not have one thing equivalent to the many forms of torture we must bear as women. You get up, you shit, shower, and shave. You visit the doctor only when you have to, and even then it's a walk in the park compared to our yearly trip. I haven't even touched upon the miracle of childbirth...the miracle that women do it over and over again after the first time! Now that you have some clue, a peek into our hell, try to be more compassionate with your wives or girlfriends. Hand her a tissue if she's crying, listen if she wants to vent, hug her if she seems down, steer clear if she's angry, and for love of God, do not complain about any of these things. You really have no idea, buddy, are you friggin kidding me right now???
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