Stirrups

When you wake up on the morning of your annual well woman exam (what a cheesy name), you know it’s just not going to be a comfortable day. My experience has certainly changed over the years from my first attempt when I was 19 and thought I needed an exam to get BC to have sex, so went to my general practitioner who had been my doc since I was like 10 and he asked if I was sexually active (I wasn’t, I was planning ahead) and explained he didn’t want my first experience to be with a speculum (so awkward just remembering this convo), so he gave me a prescription for the blood clot causing patch and sent me on my way.

I’m much more comfortable talking about lady issues now (obviously since I’m writing about it for all the interwebbers to read) and fortunately I have a doc I love so much that I drive 45 minutes to see her, as I did yesterday.

The appointment started with the nurse telling me my doc had a student with her today and would that be okay, which it was. The student came in first to chat and do the beginning of the exam and she looked familiar, which I guess is a good thing, but it was an awkward first few minutes trying to decide if I actually knew her before she started poking around. I didn’t.

Then I had to have the awesome convo where I admit I stopped talking my birth control pills because of “lack of need” and when I said I was thinking about going back on them, she asked if I had any new potential partners on the horizon, which was really a nice reminder that this might be the most action my vajayjay sees all year.

Gone are the days when I shave and prepare and worry about if I should keep my socks on (I wasn’t wearing socks anyway). It was the day before my wax appointment, so literally the situation was as bad as it gets and I didn’t shave my legs, so the now TWO women staring at my cervix probably understood why there was a lack of need for birth control at this point.

My doc asked if the student could do the exam, so I said sure, but of course she had a problem with her tool (my vagina apparently has this effect on people), so she poked for a while before they switched midstream and my doc finished up. Fantastic.

But, when I went to check out I had no co-pay and I still don’t really know why (the new healthcare laws that also cover BC now maybe?) , but that did help that I didn’t have to pay for the awkward encounter!

Aaaand I’m over it. Mostly.

Semantics are the basis of a lot of my pet peeves. 

Don’t call yourself a vegetarian and follow it up with, “but I eat chicken.”  That’s called being a picky eater; I know, I did it myself for a few years before deciding on actual vegetarianism, which I have since abandoned for eating fish and poultry again, but I don’t use the v word, it’s just silly.  Well, and a lie.

Don’t assume when I say I’m in marketing that means I’m in sales.  Don’t tell me you’re in marketing if you’re actually in sales.  They’re very different.

Don’t. Call. Me. A. Girl.

Brit knows what I'm talking about.

Now, I’m not perfect.  I actually told No-Name how I disliked being called a girl and about 30 minutes later he pointed out that I had indeed asked if his brother would be interested in “a girl like me.” Yes, I’m now hitting up past potentials for set ups.  Dontjudgeme.

There are times it just fits in conversation.  “I’m an Arizona girl.”  “Damn straight I run like a girl.”

But there are many more times when I want to be appreciated as a woman. I’ve been struggling for the distinction probably since graduating college, more so recently. I wasn’t completely unfortunate as a teen, but I’ve definitely grown into myself – personality and looks – as an adult.

I got my own house, my own car, two jobs, work hard, I’m a bad broad.  Okay, I rent an apartment and just have the one job, but I’m I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T do you know what that means?*

I’m not married, no kids.  Not too haggard looking.  Are those the things I have to wait for to be called a woman?  I get called ma’am in stores sometimes.  Does that count?

My boss recently made the discovery that when he was a junior in high school, I was gracing the world with my arrival.  To this, he said, “you’re, like, 12!”  Which is funny because that’s the age I give all men.  I said, “no, I’m like 26!” Anyway, that doesn’t change a conversation we had a while ago in which – intense debate on the logistics of voting on DWTS story later – he said, “but you’re not a girl, you’re a woman.”  FINALLY!

I read an online dating profile in which the guy said no fewer than five times what he was looking for in a girl, what his perfect girl looked like and what kind of activities he would like to enjoy with a girl.  Um, go try a playground?

Note that I said guy.  This is where it’s unfair because males have “guy” and we have no in between.  I make an effort to call men, well men, as well.  I made an effort to call TGISWOTSD a man and he immediately corrected me that he was a boy because he was still quite immature.  How did I miss THAT red flag?

And now getting to the original point of this post…I sent a text to Non-Mush.  Did I mention he’s going halfway around the world for a business trip of still-undetermined length?  I wished him well and told him I wouldn’t be upset if it turned out to be a better time, better place when he eventually makes it back – for his sake because I’m awesome and he’s missing out.  No, really.  I have no shame (and sometimes border on conceit).  

Anyway, he responded with a thanks and a vague agreement that we don’t know where we might find ourselves by mid-summer and that I’m a “great girl.” 

Perhaps this is one of those occasions where girl fits, but “great woman,” “amazing woman,” even “great catch,” “wonderful person,” “something to lose.”  ANYTHING besides a pat on the head and a [insert talking-to-a-puppy voice] “who’s a good girl?”

Over it (as I said, mostly).  Time and space and an active social calendar helps too. 

*If you are confused by this gansta paragraph tossed in here, summertime brings about my love for rap songs from my younger days.  Please enjoy: