Although yesterday’s gyno-a-gogo was an absolute blast and went off without a bitch, the examination didn’t provide all the excitement. After all, party favors, or shwag as we celebrities like to call it, are the incentive to go to the party in the first place. And just like with any other party, I didn’t leave this one empty-handed.
A recent trip to a “regular” doctor yielded two particularly well-whittled tongue depressors that I believe are made of the finest teak this side of a Connecticut poolside lounge chair. But since yesterday’s appointment was gynecological, the booty wasn’t as bountiful. Large swabs tipped on one end with a bulb of cotton, while certainly a hoot in the examination room, lose something in the translation and transition to a home environment. Individually-wrapped blood collection kits make my blood run cold. (Aside: They do make excellent Hallowe’en treats. Try it. Say “Prick or eat!” to the kids this October and see how their little hands reach for the kits instead of the Smarties.) And although I, like many gals, covet nothing more than a stainless steel speculum, I would prefer to be the first to take it around the block. “Used” may be cool for cars, vintage clothing, or books, but this is one item I recommend buying “fresh”.
This doctor’s appointment was such a hoot on its own that I didn’t really care what the party favor was. The memories I’d take away would last a lifetime, whereas a cotton swab would (or should) only last a fleeting moment. Still, I couldn’t have been more excited with what I took home. Look:
Clearly the artist does not live in Manhattan, where the basic
pedestrian’s face registers somewhere in the 8 to 10 range.
Throughout the examination, when the doctor would ask how certain things felt as she prodded ‘n’ poked ‘n’ kneaded, I simply pointed to the chart and then to my own face and made her guess! After all, this may have been my party favor, but I wasn’t doing her any.