Even a Trip to the Gynecologist Can Be Dangerous. A True Tale of Humiliation.

Most people would consider the story I'm going to try and convey through the written word as embarrassing. Well, I just think it's funny. Don't get me wrong, it was embarrassing at the time. But, that was a long time ago, and my skin has thickened significantly since.

And, don't worry guys, I'm not going to go into detail about what goes on in a gynecologists' office.

It was my first real gynecology appointment. Any gynecology appointment can be pretty nerve wracking, but the anticipation of the first one is especially nauseating.

I begged a dear friend to go with me, to distract me, hopefully. Reluctantly, she agreed, and even offered to give me a ride.

The woman who would be performing the exam instructed me to remove my clothing and put on this flimsy "nightie" that I swear is no bigger then my dinner napkin! At this point, I'm thinking, "What's the point of this? You're going to see everything anyway, and this thing couldn't cover up my big toe!" Nonetheless, you certainly try to get that teenie tiny, paper thing to cover you up.

As suggested, I left my socks on. Supposedly, it would be "more comfortable" to do so, as I wouldn't expose my feet to the ice cold of the metal stir-ups. My friend took great care folding my clothing on her lap, like a good little schoolmarm, while failing miserably to distract me in any positive fashion.

When the exam was mercifully finished, and the doctor had left the room for me to get dressed, I rolled myself off the hospital bed, ducked around the curtain that had been partially closed for my "privacy," and threw my paper towel away.

As I bent over, to take my undergarments off the pile of clothes still nestled on my friends lap, my naked bottom pointing at the closed door, I noticed the door starting to creek open. In a panic, I swiftly turned, to dodge behind the still half-closed curtain.

Having kept my socks on, as you might recall, I slipped on the freshly waxed tile floor, lunging forward. My still naked (save for those all-important socks) body dove under the curtain, my arms flying out before me. It must have looked like I was sliding into home plate, at the end of the ninth inning of a tied game, crowd cheering.

Only half my body managed to settle under the curtain, and consequently under the hospital bed, however. By bare butt was still on the side of the curtain that was visible to the now open door, now framed by a curtain!

Even in that moment, I couldn't help but laugh. I knew how utterly ridiculous I must look, and I felt even more ludicrous. I was laughing so hard, that I couldn't answer when I heard the doctors voice ask, "Are you okay?" I could tell from the sound of her wavering vocals, she really wanted to laugh, but was probably attempting to maintain an aire of professionalism as well as make sure she wouldn't be sued.

My friend had to answer for me, reminding the doctor that I probably wouldn't be laughing so hard if I was indeed seriously wounded.

Let me tell ya, walking out of that office, I was probably more nervous then when I entered it.

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