Category: On Being a Woman


My Relationship with My Eyebrows: A Play in Three Parts

January 18th, 2007 — 10:42am

Act I: Blissful Ignorance

Scene: Mamma’s third birthday party. She’s about to blow out the candles on her cake. Two parents share a conversation in the back of the room.

Parent 1: She’s a cutie.
Parent 2: She’s going to get away with a lot with those big blue eyes.
Parent 1: And those long eyelashes…

Act II: This Might Be as Bad as Getting Your Period

Scene: Mamma’s now 13. Short Stuff (Mamma’s Mamma) calls to Mamma from her bedroom.

Short Stuff: Mamma, come here.
Mamma:
Short Stuff: Mamma?! Come here.
Mamma: (eye roll) o-kay

Mamma enters Short Stuff’s bedroom and is attacked by a crazy tweezer wielding woman.

Mamma: What are you doing?! (trying to slap Short Stuff away)
Short Stuff: I just. need. to. get. rid. of. someofthosehairs.
Mamma: OUCH! OUCH! What. are. you. doing?!
Short Stuff: We just need to clean your eyebrows up a bit. You’ll like it.

Later that day…Mamma and her best friend Long Legs are walking to the pool

Long Legs: What happened to your face?
Mamma: My mom “plucked” my eyebrows. It frickin’ hurt!
Long Legs: It looks better. Before they looked like two caterpillars in heat.

Act III: Acceptance/The Love Affair

Scene: Mamma, freshly denuded of unsightly eyebrow and bikini hair, saunters down the sidewalk on a sunny brisk day.

Voiceover Mamma: I wonder if Timi (my esthetician) knows what a girl crush I have on her. I mean look at these eyebrows! They’re perfect every time! This might be better than a new hair cut. I love Timi. Love her, love her, love her. Hmm? I didn’t know my pants hit my skin there. Shakey’s going to love Timi too!

Cue The Gap Band “You Dropped a Bomb on Me” as Mamma hops into her big SUV and drives away.

Fin.

19 comments » | Fashion, On Being a Woman

A Speculumtacular Visit!

January 9th, 2007 — 10:15pm

**Warning to men and boys. The following is a story that will make you thank god once again that you are not a woman. Read at your own risk**

As Karrie so selflessly shared with us her annual gynecological visit today, I was reminded of a particularly lovely sojourn I took to the doc oh so many years ago. And for the record, I’m not “stalking” Karrie despite the fact that I can’t stop talking about her. Karrie, Karrie, Karrie.

When I went away to college I began taking the Pill, because I was having sex wanted to regulate my periods. Taking it regularly was never a problem and on a few occasions helped me determine what day of the week it was (I went to school in New Orleans). What was a challenge was remembering to make appointments with my doctor to get my prescription refilled.

Just days before I was ready to leave town at the end of my junior year, I realized I was going to run out of pills before I was going to be able to see my usual physician, so I ran over to the school health center in hopes of getting a mercy refill. Shoot, they always thought you were pregnant when you went in there so I thought I had a chance. Seriously, mumps? I had them my sophomore year and as the doctor looked at my misshapened face he told me he wanted to take a blood test to see if I was pregnant. That health center had to be the last stop for some burned out docs.

They agreed to a refill but insisted I have a pelvic exam before they would give it to me. Since most students had departed it was quiet and they took me right in. In a rush, I donned my paper nightie and awaited the master of ceremonies. He entered accompanied with his beautiful assistant, the nurse, since there were strict rules about male doctors being in the room alone with a female patient for this kind of exam. I should have been grateful I guess but she looked more like a partner in crime than a savior.

So I got up on the table, laid back and put my feet in the stirrups (and they wonder why little girls have pony fantasies). Then there was the awkward dance as the doctor kept asking me to slide further down the table. I’m guessing the poor guy must have been nearsighted. With my hoo hoo in the spotlight and the speculum inserted, the exam commenced. Never a big fan of pelvic exams I first ignored the discomfort I was feeling, but as I lay there staring at the ceiling (why do so few doctors put interesting pictures on the ceiling?) the pain started to outweigh my memory of past pelvic perusing parties. It finally hurt enough that I decided to pop my head up and see what the heck was going on down there.

My first sight was of the physician looking at my crotch with a perplexed look as he mumbled to himself. This prompted the nurse to put down her paperwork to come over and inspect things for herself. By this point, never the one to be shy about pain in my VAGINA, I managed to emit some sort of grunt indicating that I sensed a problem. They both looked up as if they were surpsrised I was there and the doctor said, “it’s stuck.” Stuck I thought? WHAT THE FUCK IS STUCK IN MY VAGINA? Then the nurse explained to me non-chalantly that “those darn plastic speculums are so worthless. They’re always getting stuck in the open position.” STUCK IN THE OPEN POSITION?!

Apparently as the doctor was trying to set the speculum it got stuck on the largest setting. For a moment the look on his face made me think he was considering bracing his foot against my thigh to get some leverage to pull it out by force. Luckily, the Goddess of Pelvic Exams intervened and the diabolical speculum was extracted without any permanent damage.

Needless to say I grabbed that prescription and high-tailed it out of there.

So next time they offer you metal or plastic…take the metal!!!

10 comments » | On Being a Woman

Can We Do It? Yes, We Can!!

January 5th, 2007 — 3:43pm

I couldn’t be grosser right now. I’m so gross I can’t even come up with an appropriate analogy for what I’m grosser than. Yes! For the second time in less than four weeks I have strep throat again. And I AM SO FREAKIN TIRED OF BEING SICK!!!!!

The irony of it all is that I was just turned on to the Future MILF party going on over at Mom-O-Matic. And I’m getting myself invited to that party baby. What almost 37 year old Mamma doesn’t want to be a MILF?! Even if I’m the only one who sees me as a MILF…

So before I get in the shower and try to rid myself of the grunge that has decided to envelop my whole body, I declare my intention to become a Future MILF. Because from the state I’m in now…there’s no where to go but hotter.

8 comments » | On Being a Woman

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