The weirdest friendship ever.

*Before I start this little tale, I think I should post a disclaimer of sorts.
I know for a fact that there are a small number of you readers who are MALE and who even may know me personally  (and no, Husband, you do not count because you are lucky enough to hear all the unnecessary and ugly details of my life on a daily basis) who might find this post today chock full of TMI about the party that is my yearly female exam. Get over it. Or take a pass and come back Friday.

The other day I got to had to go visit my friend Christine.
She's my gynecologist, so I feel a little weird calling her my friend, but I feel like I can call that for a few reasons.
1) she calls me "my dear" every time she walks in the room, and I'm guessing we're pretty close to the same age
2) when she has to call and leave a message (she's nice like that) she refers to herself as 'Tina' (because I'm sure that's what all her besties call her), and
3) she's been my lady doctor for 10 years and when someone's been looking at you from the inside out for 10 years I think they damn well earn the title of 'friend.'
(which is also why I'm a little weirded out by referring to her as my friend, because when a virtual stranger has been looking at you from the inside out for 10 years I think maybe a hard friendship line gets a little crossed. Yes? No?)

So the other day.
It was yearly exam time. If there's something you should know about me (other than the fact that I was once retweeted by Scott Baio and that the circumference of my head is roughly the size of a prize winning watermelon) it's that I'm a firm believer in getting your yearly lady exam... yearly. I don't go enthusiastically, but I always go. Since this was the first yearly exam I've had since starting this little blog, let me tell you I experienced it in a whole new blogging light and all the details that might have been overlooked in years past suddenly became abundantly more pronounced.
And I took notes*. Duh.

*important to note that said notes were not taken while lying prone on the table with feet in stirrups. They were quickly typed into the handy 'notes' section on my phone in the car after the appointment. 
There's an app. for that.

• Cute helper nurse calls me back, asks me to step on scale.  Shock and denial. I tell her that my boots weigh at least 6 pounds.  B**ch nurse calls me on it and tells me I can take my boots off and step back on the scale.  Looks smug as we discover boots weigh 1.6 pounds.

• Less-cute-getting-uglier-by-the-minute helper nurse sits me down for the Q&A (as I mentioned way back in this post, I have an issue with lying to the nurses when they ask the drinking and exercising questions.  Not meaning I don't do it, meaning I cannot do it well). 

Ugly nurse looks at screen and asks (with a straight face):  Are you still exercising 5 times a week?. 

Me: It says that????  Bahahahahahahahaha......(regaining composure when I see she isn't amused that I obviously lied last year)...um....oh...yeah, well, I've been really busy this past month and haven't had much time....so probably only like twice in the past 2 weeks....but my average is probably like 3 times a week.

Disappointed nurse: Do you have any sleeping difficulties or depression?

Me: Sweetheart, I just told you I have a glass or two of wine every night. What do you think?

I'm not sure she liked me very much.

• Instructions from exasperated nurse about how to put on and tie the paper robe and what to do with the sheet.  Really? You think this is my first trip to this rodeo, darlin'?  

Contemplate wrapping myself in the paper sheet like a toga and draping the paper robe over my legs just to mess with them.  

Try not to look at the "supplies" laid out on the counter. Much like looking away when I get a shot, I guess.

• Tina arrives.  Calls me "my dear", as usual. 

We chat for a bit and catch up (which is awkward given the fact that she is fully clothed and I am not) and then play the uncomfortable Dance of the Gynecological Fairies - the one where I never know when I'm supposed to lie back and throw the feet up so I kind of keep talking and acting like I'm going to lie down to see what her reaction is and if she acts like she's ready to go in or if she's settling in for a chat first. 

• Exam time #1 - The exterior.

Question, ladies. Do you make eye contact with your doctor when he/she is pushing around on your boobs? I do not. But I keep talking. Like in most other social situations in my life, I feel responsible for keeping the conversation going.  As if it's a party. And so I keep talking. And talking.

• Exam #2 - The interior.

Tina keeps the conversation going even when she's in there spelunking (gotta love Tina) and I cannot even begin to tell you how awkward it is and the stupid things that come out of my mouth while I'm trying to ignore the fact that she's all up in my business while talking to me about her trip to Hawaii.

• Exam #3 - The posterior.

Yeah. Sorry, young'uns. I hate to be the one to tell you what gets added to your yearly exam after you turn 40, but lets just lay the word 'violation' out there and leave it at that.  Oh, and if you don't already have a regular doctor, you might want to choose one with short fingers.

And then, just like that, she's outta there (literally) and I'm left sitting up on the table, paper robe askew and a little goopy, a bit dazed and feeling like I need a nap.  

As I walk out of the office, I see Tina standing at the computer making notes (patient exhibited manic conversational habits and lies about her exercise regimen) and even after the in-depth (pun intended) conversation we've just had (not to mention the bonding) I cannot make eye-contact for more than a split second and give a limp half-wave and walk out but at the same time resist the urge to ask for her cell number so we can grab a glass of wine sometime.

My 'friend'?  

Sure. Why not.