WARNING: This post contains a picture of someone with a horrible hair cut. And a nipple.
I need a distraction.
I have to get a diagnostic mammogram tomorrow and I keep having these horrifying images of my boob getting ripped off in the machine.
I’ll spare you the all of the personal, gory details, but I’ll just say there is an issue with my boob meat that caused my doctor to give me “concerned doctor face” so she wants to make sure my baby-feeder isn’t going to fall off. NOTHING SERIOUS THOUGH. Probably.
I’ve never really been one to be afraid of pain or physical discomfort. The prospect of childbirth and all the horror that comes with it didn’t scare me when I was pregnant. I was never nervous or fearful before any of the tattoos and piercing I’ve received (which I learned that both are rather enjoyable experiences, but don’t take my word for it because I’m a fucking weirdo). The thought of other common unpleasantries like getting a shot or
taking it in the butt dental work doesn’t really frighten me either. But this shit? I’M NERVOUS AS ALL HELL.
Aside from my boob getting ripped off, I have these awful mental images of a sudden fire emergency or the clinic being held up by terrorists and I can’t run to safety because my girl-bag is stuck in a machine THAT FLATTENS IT LIKE A FUCKING PANCAKE. Seriously, what kind of bull shit is that? Modern medical advances can save people’s faces that have been ripped off by chimpanzees and naked, crazed black men, but they can’t take inside-my-boob pictures without smashing it like a fucking bug? RIDICULOUS. Mostly. Kind of. Okay, it’s not really all that ridiculous. I’m just whining. It truly is neat that we can do all sorts of inside-our-body pictures using things like radiation and sound waves. BUT STILL. The thought of a robot getting all “HULK SMASH” on my tit makes me a little uncomfortable to say the least.
But, as with
shots butt sex dental work all things, I’ll take it like a champ. ‘Cause that’s how I roll and stuff.
SEND GOOD VIBES MY WAY ANYWAYS, ’cause, you NEVER KNOW. The machine could become self-aware right at the moment it touches my fleshy-love
hill mountain and try to eat or fondle my boob so hard that it’s forever destroyed. And, you know, THE TERRORISTS. Fuck those guys.