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In her Cups

Had a series of tests recently and, guess what? I didn't prepare for a single one and, BIG surprise, I failed miserably - all but one. The good news is, the one I did pass was the E.K.G.

With my shirt pulled up and my heaving chest exposed for all to take a gander, I sat in my doctor's office with what must have been a few hundred electrodes, along with the nurse lady that was busy attaching those sticky things to my exposed skin.

I looked down with wonder and thought, "Self, you ain't got a chance."

And, of course, after the first attempt or two at getting the first test going, nurse-lady demanded a closer examination of the "full-metal jacket" bra I was wearing. She quickly declared that the offending armor was interfering with the test and needed to go.

Just like that. Remove. My. Bra.

Now, you have to understand something about me. I'm very attached to my bra. Yeah, like in a fire - I'd be looking for my bra, not my family pictures. My girls may not be perfect, but they've been with me since the beginning, and I've always found that things run a bit more smoothly when at least one of us is in our cups.

And since I was sitting, soberly absorbing direction from nurse lady, I knew trouble was coming.

"Strip to your panties and step on the scale," nurse-lady bellowed. I cringed, closing my eyes. Ah, crap, not the dreaded scale!

Gingerly, I hoisted myself onto the platform and before nurse lady could reveal the truth out loud, I turned to her and said,
"Don't speak. Don't even think about saying what you were gonna say. The truth hurts. I can't handle the truth."

Nurse lady just looked at me as if I were off my rocker.

I continued, pleading now, "I was thinking that we could, uh, maybe grab some lunch. You know... my treat, before you break with the bad news."

Nurse-lady just smiled and, with her left hand, pulled a blood pressure cuff out from behind her skinny, emaciated self, while the right hand was (I swear to you) busy loading a syringe of orange liquid.

"Now, there," she cooed. "This won't hurt a bit." She smiled as she tugged the waistband of my big girl panties down around my hips.

Serious humiliation was what I was experiencing at this point,

Once she finished, I quickly reached over to pull my big girl panties up, which I, at that point, was certain resembled John Candy's underwear in the movie, "Planes, Trains and Automobiles." Oh, yeah, to call them droopy would be an understatement.

I was feeling a bit over-exposed, to say the least, with half my rear-end swinging in the wind here, people!

Before I could begin the job of getting everything tucked back to normal, nurse-lady warned, "Don't touch that, it will only make it worse."
Don't touch what? I wondered. The site of the injection or my underwear?

"Hello, skinny nurse-lady, perhaps it's not awkward for you, but you have me standing here with my big girl panties half pulled down, and my ginormous, untethered breasts ready to project themselves right out the exam room door at the very first opportunity. I am dying here."

Like I said, there was only one test I passed that morning.



  1. would have felt the same! i think some people can be very insensitive just because they do the thing they do on a daily basis

  2. So funny, Mary. Al's right. The nurses do this every day, we do it once a year with at least six months of nervous anticipation before the appointment. Yikes!