Embedded wood

I have found that when I’m not in a relationship I tend to run my medical issues by my friends, “Hey, do you mind looking at this mole in between my ass cheeks? I’m concerned it may be cancerous.” I don’t feel bad about doing so because, if they are also single, they usually reciprocate the behavior at some point.

 

There are times, however, when I just wait until I go to the doctor. Being that I’m relatively healthy, I typically only go to the doctor for my yearly pap smear. This year, I saved my one major ailment for my gynecologist.

 

As soon as she finished my pap smear, and while my feet were still in the oven mitt covered stirrups, I asked if she would mind removing a sliver in my foot that had embedded so deep I couldn’t get it and my toes were starting to tingle. She agreed to do so and, after much prying, removed it and said, “That was a big piece of wood.” From that moment on, I started telling people, “My gynecologist removed my embedded wood.”

 

I shared this story with Lola who told me she also used her gynecologist for other ailments, “I was at my annual and had been experiencing the feeling of something in my eye. I asked if he could look at it and he said, ‘I don’t have a slit light.’ I couldn’t stop laughing.”

 

We talked for about an hour and she started rubbing her eye. “Sorry, I’ve got something in my eye.” “No, I’m sorry, I don’t have a slit light. You might want to make an appointment with your gynecologist,” I replied.

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