I Did The Mash

I am fittin' to tell the story of the Big Mash so if you're one of the men in my life who is not interested in hearing such a tale, I'm giving you the option to click out. I don't think any of my male family members read this other than Cousin Terry and Mr. Smiff occasionally pops in oh and My Non-Pickin' and Grinnin' Brother In Law the Engineer...oh boy, more than I thought. The Gentleman Formerly Known As My Boss is known to get his Whiff and maybe a few other fellers. Just click one of my links and go on and read something political or something. I'll wait.

Whistling a little tune here....pick whichever is your favorite thing to whistle.....


Da da deeee..............


They gone? Good.

I pulled up to the place and nearly turned around and went back home. I circled around the building. I couldn't not go. No. My Aunt Junie, if she were still around woulda kicked my ass. See, Junie, who dropped her life for two weeks and came when I was born, was diagnosed with breast cancer when she was in her early 40's. She was misdiagnosed for I don't know how long, told she had a pulled muscle because she was the athletic type. They didn't have mammograms back in 1970. If they had, she might not have died at 50 years old. So I decided I'd be a Big Girl and trot on in.

I must apologize to the lady who checked me in and apparently, was having a birthday. She had her nice balloon and I was not my usual cutting up, retard self. Every question she asked, all I said was "Mmmhmmm" or "Nope." She wanted to put a little bracelet on me and I actually said "Oh great!" somewhat sarcastically. Sorry, Lady. I bet you hate people like me. What a brat.

Out comes the Tech Girl and of COURSE, Tech Girl is this cuter-than-cute, most likely a former college cheerleader who I bet you money teaches a spinning class somewhere. She had the perfect "I-Work-Out-And-You-Don't-You-Big-Ol-Thang-That-I-Have-To-Touch-Your-Breasteses" neck. I bet she can still do a back handspring. I hated her from the git go.

"How are yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew?" I'm scared shitless of getting this thing done cause I'm a semi-hypochondriac, Pollyanna. I didn't really say that but I told her flat out I was skeered. "Ohhhhhhhhh....that's alriiiiight. Is this your first oooooooooone?" in her best cheerleader we -got -spirit -yes we -do voice.

So we go into the Breasteses Room and she sticks something on my, um, parts. (Aunt B would go to town describing it and use much more colorful words than I but I'm not as brave and worried about those one or two dudes I know from work or wherever who are still with us and want to be able to face) I do my little photo shoot (I swear, I thought Tech Girl was going to say "Ready? OK!" I didn't really pay any attention to her because I'm babbling about how friggin scared I am. I bet she wanted to tell me to hush up my yapping so she could do her job. Really, the actual pitcher taking was not bad at all. It is a little odd to have "Most School Spirited" chick-handling the Girls and I even said to her "Man, I'm glad I don't have YOUR job." I couldn't do that all day long. I suppose it's like me messing with a computer all the day. She tells me to go on back but wait til the films are developed before I change.

Pollyanna returned and said "Your all se-eeet. I'm just a technician but I didn't see anything that jumped out at me. I don't want you worrying til you get the results." Bad Sista Smiff for being so ugly about Ms. Fitness of Tennessee. She was really sweet. Damn her.

The worst part of the whole experience was when I went to change and I forgot about those things she stuck on my stuff before. I'll just call them "Surgical Pasties". I thought about leaving them on because I knew that was gonna smart ripping those babies off. So, I just 1-2-3 ripped them and that was the most painful part of the whole thing. Dang. No wonder I hated breast feeding and did it for about 5 minutes.

Now, we can only hope to get such a full report from Chris and Short and Fat when they get their prostates checked.