Giddy Up!

Let me just say this. I am a huge proponent of women taking responsibility for their own health. Get mammograms starting at 40, have safe sex, don't smoke, try to manage stress, all those things. And the one thing I'm a huge stickler for is the yearly exam. You know - that yearly exam. It is also, without a doubt, my least favourite thing ever. Well, okay, the time my cable went out and all I could watch was a fuzzy episode of "My Wife and Kids" was my least favourite thing ever, but it's my least favourite pantsless thing ever.

They always start with taking your blood pressure. Seems a little high. Really? I have no pants on and you're about to come at me with something that looks like Satan's salad tongs; I might be a little stressed.

And then, there's the stirrups. Some doctors use 'em, some don't. Mine does. So every year, I channel my inner Annie Oakley and saddle up. Did I mention my doctor's office is on a university campus, on the bottom floor of a residence? Every time, without fail, I've had the following thought: What if those goddamn frat boys have this place rigged with cameras ?

There are the etiquette issues. Do you have to shave your legs? Leave your socks on? Make polite conversation? And, if so, what is an appropriate topic while someone is spelunking around my lady business? In similar situations, or at least positions, I might be tempted to say I've never done this before, but she's been my doctor for 20 years - she knows all too well that I have.

But even though I hate them, even though I'm convinced that everyone in the waiting room knows what I'm there for ("she's not coughing, I don't see a rash, no visible injuries; must be the pap"), I'll keep doing it, because it's important. I'll just keep my eye out for a little blinking red light in the ceiling tiles. Goddamn frat boys.