The indignities of being female

So. Okay, here we go. To christen this blog, I begin with bitchin, because... I'm a bitch, therefore~ I'm a bitch.

This is for all the women out there.

*Remember, if you don't want to read rotten, vulgar bitchin, Step Off*

Recently, I had to go to the crotch doctor for a "check up." Now, I ask you, how dignified are you, laying on your back with your feet in stirrups and the only thing between your legs is a balding man in a lab coat and various metal tools of feminine torture?? Please. The paper ass skirt they give you to cover yourself is supposed to be One-Size-Fits-All. Yeah, right. I don't know which All they are referring, but it sure the hell isn't me. So, you sit on the examination table/medieval wrack of a chair thingy, the one where they can raise you ass higher then your head, or drop the bottom out so that you feel like your sliding into Dr. LabCoat. The ever present draft is sneeking between the gaping ends of the OSFA paper ass skirt while you sit and look at anything, everything, count holes in the ceiling tiles, wonder WTF they have Pittsburgh Steelers sock thingies on the stirrups for. Anything to keep your brain from going as numb as your bare butt. Half an a hour later (why don't we get reimbursed for the time our asses are hanging fancy free out their paper ass skirts??) Then, they show up, perfunctionarily polite as they tip your head to the floor, your ass on high, poke, prod and take cultures (chunks of flesh) while your toes turn numb from the awkward angles... Then they send you away, achy, grumpy and wanting badly for something of the chocolate or murderous variety.

Thanks for that.

Even the women doctors aren't much better.

We women are raised to be polite, caring, considerate of others before ourselves, raised to carry themselves with dignity and grace, and then they point your hooha to the stars with your knees at 90-degree angles. How is that dignified??