I was going to say it sucks being sick when you’re single, because I want someone to bring me fuzzy socks and juice, but then I realized anyone I’d date would probably be at work right now. So I think I just need a monkey butler.
Around May, I noticed my jeans were getting tight, so I bought bigger jeans, but thought, “Oh, OK, wakeup call — I should lose some weight.”
Buuut I didn’t.
And then the bigger jeans started getting tight, and I thought, “NO. This is horseshit. I’m not spending MORE money — I’ll just lose some weight. For real this time.”
Buuut I didn’t.
So I bought the NEXT biggest size, and you know what? I am fucking COMFORTABLE. God, fat pants are the BEST. And the kinda stretchy fat pants with Spandex or whatever in ’em? DAMN. So good.
Screw it. The world is awful and cake is great.
(Ahem… This defiant attitude brought to you by the first time a doctor ever told me it might be good to lose some weight, which happened last week. But she based it on BMI, and BMI is fake news. Suck it, lady. #sheetcaking for the win.)
One more thing about these tests they’re doing…
I’m not WORRIED, but I AM happy they’re checking things out, because I only had sex twice with Guy I Dated For a Minute, and both times it hurt. Only for a second, only upon his first entry, and not enough that I had to stop, but it hurt.
And, not to be an asshole (well, maybe a little bit), but it wasn’t a size issue. I mean, it wasn’t SMALL, it was a very fine penile offering, but it wasn’t like, “Oh, shit, better brace myself.”
Obviously there are approximately 6 million perfectly logical non-serious-health-issue reasons it might have hurt, but it’ll be nice to have an all-clear on anything big.
P.S. Oh, and they HAVE cleared me! I got an email while I was writing this. One small ovarian cyst, which usually resolve on their own, but nothing else. Good work, body! (Also, no STIs or other plagues, so I am officially DTF.)
I’m at the classy suburban branch of Penn Medicine, and the white trash in me is SO tempted to walk in and be like, “‘Sup. I’m here ass early in the morning to have you invade my vagina with technology.”
Regular ultrasound to see my beautifully barren womb ✔️
Vaginal ultrasound to double check for any other invaders ✔️
The gel they put on the wand was so cold it was like being fingered by a rocket pop, and it’s never great to have something inside you that you didn’t invite in (vaginal vampire?), but nothing terrible.
I realize I’m being pretty cavalier about what IS actually a test to check for big scary issues, but a) the initial biopsy they took came back fine so I’m pretty sure I’M fine, and b) I have no other mental setting than equating Very Serious tests to being fingered by a rocket pop.
A Facebook friend posted about how silly she was for being eager to get her period when she was around 11, and her male friend said, “Yeah, for men it’s shaving — when we were kids, we couldn’t wait to grow facial hair, but it’s such a hassle.”
Oh. Oh, honey…
Putting aside the non-visible symptoms of menstruation — bloating, cramps, irritability, etc…
What, pray, happens if you don’t shave for a week? You get fuzzier, no? Perhaps you get a little squirrely, maybe you need a trim?
But I’m gonna GUESS that if you just ignore that “hassle” for a week, and take no action whatsoever, you can probably still be seen in public.
Lemme just TRY to ignore my period for a week, to take no action, and go to work. Or on a date. Grocery shopping. The gym. Does that sound like a LITTLE more of a “hassle?”
Your wanton erections are probably a closer comparison. Or maybe if once a week your dick just leaked ejaculate for 5-10 days straight? Or, you know, if it just…bled?
Run along, sir. You’re needed at the Faulty Metaphor Factory.