If you are a woman, there’s a very good chance that you, at one time or another, have been lying on a table in a paper johnny with legs akimbo and your feet in stirrups as a gynecologist gets ready to put their fingers in your poontang while also murmuring, ‘Just relax.’
Um, yeah, right.
Those with male genitalia cannot even begin to relate until the snap of the latex glove with that first prostate exam, generally around age 50.
But women, we get started young.
It is useful, in the sense that one becomes adept at separating body from mind. It is also ludicrous, but not exactly clear who the joke is on.
Kind of like now. A didn’t see this coming compendium of all of the above.
In addition to the ongoing pandemic, it’s been hot. Fucking hot. A concerned friend insisted on buying an air conditioner for me. Said appliance was delivered last Saturday and my friend Jim was going to help me install it.
However, the goddess who watches Kumo while I am being infused had been running a low grade fever. Out of a sense of responsibility she contacted me and also scheduled a COVID-19 test for Tuesday. I told Jim not to come.
I was supposed to go on a date that evening (social distancing observed) but out of my own utmost of caution, I cancelled. Don’t want to be spreading that shit around.
Well, my friend the goddess got tested and then found out yesterday that they had spilled her sample in transit. So she was retested. In the meantime, my clock is still running. It shall be interesting to see if the COVID results are returned before my self-imposed-extra-super-cautious two week quarantine ends.
In the meantime, it’s still bloody hot, though thankfully, not as hot as yesterday. And I do have an air conditioner. In a box 🙂
But me? I’m just chilling. You know, relaxing. When the world hands you a dumpster fire, toast marshmallows.