Sprache?
Um, so I went to sign into blogger and everything was in German. Luckily, I have learned a few words and phrases through osmosis from my father in the past few years and found a link labeled "sprache". And when I clicked on this link I was allowed to change my previously "preferred" setting of German to English. Yeah, LUCKily.Well, if you'll excuse me, I have an invasive vaginal exam to get to!
Okay, a)I'm kind of hoping that last sentence will weed out the readers with no interest in this story or who become stuttery and red at the mention of the gynecologist and b)anytime is a good time to use Friends' quotes (which reminds me, I have an AWESOME story about my mom after this one).
So. Today was that wonderful day of the year that each woman looks forward to during the remaining 364 of them. The Annual. Now, as if this exam couldn't get any more uncomfortable and awkward and well, invasive: the sterile papers laid out so you feel like a 1-month old puppy in training, the "gown" (which, after mustering the balls to sputter the question "um, I'm not really sure . . . uh, . . . which way does this go?", receives an answer from the doctor of "you know, I'M not even sure"), the cold . . . things - EVEN after all of this, let's welcome a new added bonus to the scenario. A young assistant who looks at you like she knows you or maybe graduated from high school with you summoned into the room to hold a flashlight for the doctor because the other light broke. Yes. I'm serious. It's been a pleasant day.
Well, now that I've shared a bit too much information most likely, I'll move on to a good story that does not involve gynaecologists or flashlights (two words that should NOT be in the same story).
So my mom and I were moving chunks of broken concrete from our driveway to our lake (don't ask - my dad and his "projects"). These rocks are effing heavy so it takes two of us to control the wheelbarrow down the beach. After saying screw it to my dad's insistence that we PLACE the rocks along the retaining wall to act as deterrents to erosion, we decide to dump one load of rocks. My mom tips the wheelbarrow up and I scrape the stuff into the lake. She sets it back down, puts her shoulders back and rightly states, "Wow, my breasts are really strong!" I. Love. My. Mom.
And that's all I got. You're probably relieved. I can tell. It's okay.
posted by Hae @ 4:44 PM
3 Comments:
Um, if anyone else in Georgia is reading this, could you go check the floor of Pat's apartment? I would imagine he's lying there bleeding from the eyes right about now. Thanks.
And, for serious, Mom rocks.
Hey - I gave fair warning to weed out the weak of stomach. So if Pat is lying there bleeding from his eyes, it's his own damn fault. ;)
You rock.
i just re-read my comment and laughed so hard.
UPDATE YOUR DAMN BLOG!
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