Coochie Coo

If there is one thing I do not like it is going to the box doctor. For a number of reasons, really, but one of the main ones is that it feels very weird to have your cooch exposed to cold air with your feet up like that. I mean, usually this is an area that is very protected from drafts. We do not often feel air turbulence in the undies. So having your legs apart and your feet up can be kind of disconcerting.

In addition to that, the extremely bright spotlight and the very close and personal examination of the lady parts just feels intrusive. Then it actually gets intrusive, with cold hilarious instruments that look like ducks. I sometimes feel like joking about that. But that would be frowned upon, because at the box doctor we try to ignore what is actually going on by conversing normally about non-vaginal subjects. That is what is accepted in society for adults and I'm all about social mores.

I had the opportunity to get in for an earlier appointment with another doctor, let's say Dr. McVulva. Then I found out that it was a man doctor. Hell to the no on that one, for absolutely no good reason. Philosophically, I am able to accept a man gynecologist. I support it--follow your passions, I always say (in my head, not in public or to anyone else; actually not even in my head that much because it's very successories).  But in practice I would rather bleed to death from a cooch fracture than have a man gynecologist. This is not rational, I recognize that.