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September 28, 2006
crotchety
And now back to our regularly scheduled programming of crotches, hot guys and television.
crotches
When you are an elderly pregnant lady, you get to go the OB/GYN every month or so, especially when there are red flags all over your file concerning Gigantor Baby #1. One of the many things that I find annoying about our medical system is how the pharmaceutical companies and doctors are so in bed with each other, they don’t even flinch when you walk in and catch them. They just smile, take another drag off their cigarettes and stroke each other’s hair fondly.
Growing up, we had weird crap all over our house that the pharmaceutical companies had shilled onto my doctor father: stress balls with ads for blood pressure medicines; giant rubber noses (paperweights?) with ads for allergy medicine; clear plastic torsos with visible guts advertising various products to treat liver disease, indigestion, colon cancer, etc. I was in the waiting room on my first visit to the OB's when a smoking hot pharmaceutical rep* came in with her briefcase to dole out samples of meds like candy. They are still out there, like freakishly attractive sharks.
* There is some rule about pharmaceutical reps needing to be smoking hot. I saw a documentary on it or something, but apparently they recruit these folks from the same pool where they get tradeshow spokes models. They are also one of the few remaining professional groups to use a briefcase.
In the exam room, the stirrups on the exam table were covered with little purple felt booties. Written on these booties were, you guessed it, ads! The text of the ads was helpfully aligned so that you, the patient who was about to have her crotch examined, could read it. Alas, I didn’t recognize the name of the product they were selling, which I really felt was a missed marketing opportunity. Imagine the possibilities: “Not feeling so fresh?” the left bootie could read “Try Femu-IckBegone!” the right could helpfully suggest. This would be especially useful when to your extreme dismay you find out your OB/GYN is a…
hot guy
I don’t go to male doctors. To me, it makes more sense to have someone with the same parts inspecting your parts, especially because, um, traditionally, when a man is “down yonder”, it’s for other, less medical reasons if you know what I’m saying. It just seems really odd to be talking to some dude about the weather or the Red Sox or whatever and then two minutes later have him peering at your nether regions with a cool and clinical eye while you pretend there’s nothing weird about the situation. Because YEAH, THERE IS!
My OB's office has four doctors and only two are female. Although I requested to have a female as my primary, the last time I went in who popped through the door but a Hot’n’Flirty twenty-nine year old with a clipboard and a crooked smile? Thankfully, it wasn’t an exam visit but more a “Howyoudoin’?” visit, which meant no purple bootie usage for me. My next visit is an exam and somehow I got scheduled with Dr. Hot Crotchlooker. Actually, I don’t know what would be worse, a hot guy or some 80 year old Grandpa-type.
While I freaking out about all this to my husband, he attempted to use what I feel to be very flawed logic to calm me down. His first point was “Men don’t really even like looking at crotches”, so I had to bust out my 274,323,3423,003 back issues of Lady Crotch magazine to show him that in fact, they do. Then he pointed out that the loveable Dr. Cliff Huxtable was an OB/GYN and I said, “Dude, would you want fricking Bill Cosby looking at your crotch?!” Nice try, honey.
Posted by Max at September 28, 2006 02:07 PM