Pap Swear

My annual pap was a super thrill! My female doctor had a moustache that gave Magnum P.I. a run for his money. I booked a P2, a pap and a physical. Instead, I was swiftly jabbed with a cold and unfriendly instrument, swabbed, and tossed out to dry. Talk about physical. Further mortified, Dr. She-mister Moustache was not thorough. Her medical assessment was pedestrian. Over the years, I know a sprint from a marathon, and she overlooked the polyp sector of my galaxy. What doctor does that? Talk about half ass.

Shellie's Proverb: A donkey who doesn't mind being called an ass is a genuine ass.

Foremost, I advised that I was planning on pregnancy this year. I wanted to hear about eggs. Cervix. Uterus. Healthy. Percentage. Fertility. Cycles. Sperminating. Irrational behavior. Something? Instead, she came at me with the sharpest dagger, "...with your age, I shouldn't put it off any longer." Gee, tact much? My most private of parts has been probed, I'm not talking the good probe either, and this flunky wanted to give hard advice? Smirk. Ehck! I felt jipped. Duped. Double crossed. Tew, I wish I could spit on her now!

On the other hand, my physical was thoroughly comedy. No check for ear mites. No testing my reflex. No pulse check. It happened so fast that I was out of there in ten minutes. I said P2 not drive thru?

In need for a good female OBGYN, instead of LESBIAN. Know of any? Please call 415.PAP.NICE.

Lesson: A healthy grasshopper must never take spinach for granted.