Pornography and Pap Smears

Pornography and pap smears would not, ordinarily, go hand in hand- ooh, did you see what I did there- but in this case, they did.

I went to the lady doctor the other day, and after undressing and wrapping myself all snug in the paper towel, that some in the medical field call a robe, I sat down on the metal chaise lounge, waiting to be poked, prodded and smeared.

I usually bring my Kindle to doctor’s appointments, as I know that those white lab coat geniuses are almost always running behind schedule, but in all of my excitement in going to the doctor, I left it at home. I don’t like the rags because I can’t read about losing those last five pounds one more time, or about how North West was baptized in Jerusalem. Oy gevalt. It all makes me want to hurt someone.

Instead, I laid back against the crinkly paper lining the chaise and I closed my eyes. There’s nothing wrong with a little downtime. I could certainly afford myself a few quiet moments to unplug and unwind. After a good three minutes, I opened my eyes. Where did that 40-inch flat screen television, hanging on the wall, staring back at me, come from?

Of course, it didn’t just appear, but I hadn’t noticed it when I first walked into the room. I was too busy scavenging for band-aids or latex gloves to pilfer. Get your mind out of the sewer. The gloves are great to wear when you’re cleaning.

Why was there a flatscreen television in the exam room? How long was this exam going to take? I hoped that I wasn’t going to have my legs up in the stirrups long enough to get in an episode of Modern Family, or even a Progressive Insurance commercial for that matter.

I wasn’t a five-year-old who was getting a filling at the dentist’s office and needed to watch Finding Nemo, to distract me from the pain. What was the deal?

Maybe they were making porn in the office, after hours, and they used the flat screen as a playback monitor. Ooh, maybe it was a two-way mirror and some perverted doctor was spying on unsuspecting vaginas. I’m pretty sure that set-up was an episode of SVU. Good thing I showered and clipped my hedges.

My doctor was now rudely late, and I wished that I could watch television; porn, Finding Nemo, anything, I didn’t care. I was bored, and there wasn’t anything to snatch from the counter, or in the drawers. Yes, I opened a few drawers.

When my doctor finally walked in, I asked her about the television. She smiled conspiratorially and told me that she shared the office with a fertility doctor and that when his patients needed to donate their sperm, they came into this room and, well, let’s just say that they didn’t watch Finding Nemo. I mean they could have. I don’t judge. Whatever it takes.

I started to laugh and then I thought, ew, these best be new paper sheets on this chaise, that’s under my bare ass. Really, I’m sprawled out on a table, literally, where Mr. Jones just jacked off to, Jenna Does Jacksonville.

I asked my doctor to turn on the television. I needed a distraction from my overactive imagination.