One year ago yesterday I had an appointment for my annual mammogram. I was hoping to have that same privilege this year at 10:40 so I could, from this point forward, refer to it as the 1040-DD. Sadly, no appointments were available on ‘tax’ day.
Despite this sad news I still scheduled an appointment for the mammogram and, first thing this morning, I stood in a sterile room with an imaging technician and my boobs smashed between plastic and an x-ray plate. Booby-trapped.
We didn’t talk much.
She made a few simple requests such as, “Bend with your stomach,” and “Will you please hold your right breast to the side? It’s blocking the left,” but that was really the extent of it.
Fifteen minutes later my boobs were out of the trap and I was ready for more adventures.
After coffee, shopping and a few minor errands Live Longer, Tree and Awkward stopped by my house for wine.
We discussed the previous evening’s activities and I informed them I spilled a glass of red wine on my carpet while cleaning. Fortunately, with the help of club soda and baking soda, it did not stain my carpet. Also fortunate was the fact that we pulled Rated R’s son away just as he tried to eat the soda.
“Luckily your house is pretty kid friendly,” Live Longer said and added. “Mine isn’t. It’s kid booby-trapped.”
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“It’s kid booby-trapped,” was her only response.
I’m still not sure what she means but if it is anything like my mammogram they’ll only have to experience it annually.
