Vote for me to be the 2011 Blogger Idol here!
I’ll let you see my boob.
I am listed as Cat Rainwater on the voting page.
A few weeks ago I mentioned that my penalty for living to see forty is a mammogram. I finally went last Friday- mostly I waited because I Google searched mammogram comments and none of them were positive reviews. They were full of pain, anguish and mother fuckers. Seriously- I didn’t find one comment remotely close to “I wanna do it again- and soon!”. So I get there and check in and take stock and order of the thirty people sitting in the lobby. Great- this will take like a decade. The loud inconsiderate bitch young lady at the counter asks me why I am there. Oh I don’t know, I saw the cold coffee and Bill Cosby reruns and had to stop in and indulge. “I’m here for a mammogram”. She asks me what kind. Um, the kind where they squish by boobies into thin tan pancakes and defy God’s perfect round titty plan? Is this a pop quiz? “A regular one I suppose”. She proceeds to let her coworker, and everyone in the lobby, know that I didn’t know what kind of mammogram I needed. So I look at the two girls and say “Sorry, i’m not a doctor. I just play one in bed”. I guess we were a little loud because when I turned around to grab a seat, everyone was looking at my chest. Shit I hope no none had x-ray vision because they will see that my leopard print bra does not match my hot pink panties and if they can see, those fuckers better give me a tip. Just sayin’.
|The booby crushing machine.
Invented by a man , no doubt.
The most uncomfortable part, besides having the girls caught in a vice, was that the edges of the platform are straight and very square. This just proves a virgin kept in a bubble his entire life man-made this machine. First, which one of you ladies has a rectangular torso much less boob? Anyone? No, I thought not. Seriously, why isn’t that plate curved so you can step into it and flop a girl onto it without having to be party to a lady cut in half Vegas magic trick? Then- to get a picture- my boob must be compressed within an inch of it’s life. After that- I will never press another flower. Like ever. Second, no way if a similar device was needed to screen for penis cancer would it involve compression of any sort. It would require a dark room, hot nurse and maybe a DVD player. You guys have no idea how sensitive lady chesticals are- think stubbing your unit -or worse. That’s how a mammogram feels. Someone could have at least offered me a glass of wine. Asses. It was also uncomfortable to have some lady I have never seen before, and hope I never do again, all up in my business handling the girls like they were juggling balls. I didn’t get tips for that little encounter either.
|This is my boob with a little bit of worry inside that red star.
Grabby Lady says everything looks good to her and off I go to shower off and feel less dirty. Imagine my surprise yesterday after lunch when I get a call telling me they need another couple of pictures of Right Boob. I try to schedule next week when I will be exquisitely unemployed and on Skinny Cat Time. They say, “No. It needs to be today. At 3:20.” Gulp. Immediately I deploy the ultra 911 BFF in distress beacon, known as The Bat Signal. Carrie answers first, I tell her the scoop, she tells me she will be anywhere I need her to be in 20 minutes. See- that’s why she’s had BFF status forever. When the chips are down- she kicks it into Honey Badger gear and prepares for battle. We discuss what it could be: a cyst, a tumor, an alien, maybe a Macy’s gift card.
So I get there and told Carrie to stay put in case this is an in and out deal. Another boob squishing date comes and goes. Then the Radiologists says she wants to see this spot on a sonogram and asks me to wait in the half naked lady lounge. There I am, in my one button cape, trying to keep the girls from sneaking out of the sides. Thank gosh there is coffee in this joint! However, there are two women between me and the coffee. One looks to be eighty and it appears she has never ever once shaved her legs. The other is a woman about my age and she is flying her freak flag. High. Her gut has escaped from the front of her cape and her left boob is laying on her arm. She knows it and does not care one little bit. Um, never mind on the coffee I will just sit here and be thirsty. I get called quickly for the sonogram and the tech spends fucking eternity pushing, looking and snapping pictures. So I snap one also. She gives me crazy eye. I give her it’s my fucking titty eye back. Radiologists comes in to let me know that the area is “suspicious”. Suspicious like a hooker in a pair of Manolo’s? Like a man dressed in black creeping outside a window? Or suspicious like my boob needs to be lopped off? No, suspicious like I need a biopsy. Tomorrow. Geeez, now I REALLY need wine! I call Carrie- tell her the turn of events. We decide the radiologists is retarded and make plans for our Friday evening sleep over, because no matter what comes next, we go on.
Did you vote for me to be the 2011 Blogger Idol? Told you I would let you see my boob! If not- well now you’ve seen my boob- so go earn your pervy peep and vote now! BTW- I am listed as Cat Rainwater on the voting page.