Full Disclosure

This one's for the ladies.

Yesterday, I had to go to the doctor's for a physical and I decided I might as well double up the joy with a long over due "Well Woman" appointment. 

"Well Woman" gives the impression of a quiet morning drinking coffee and reading a book in the garden.  Ladies, we all know, this is no where near the truth.  The nurse points to an unimaginably small pile of folded paper and says, please put these on and the doctor will be in shortly.

Shortly.  How long is shortly?  I quickly strip down and snatch the paper "clothes" as quickly as possible, imagining that "shortly" means she will open the door as soon as I have no clothes on...probably wide enough that the nurse and patient (probably male) walking by my room will also get a great look at my awesome glory.

Hurriedly, I throw my clothes into a pile and try to arrange the paper for maximum coverage.  I pick up my paper "shirt," which is really like a one-size-fits-all vest that doesn't fit all sizes.  Pull the flaps closed in front and flesh emerges from the overly large arm holes.  Side coverage means, not so much front coverage.  That's OK.  I have a paper blanket!  I carefully sit on the narrow strip of paper on the table (the width of which, like most other aspects of a doctor's visit, encourages me to lose weight) and drape myself in paper.  Phew.  I beat "shortly," thereby avoiding the embarrassment of full disclosure.

But now, "shortly" stretches into 15 minutes.  I am sitting in a relatively warm room wearing nothing but cheap paper.  It's about this time that I regret the mad dash to get undressed, as I am now sweating in places no one wants to know about.  My paper clothes are sticking to me.  I am feeling less "Well" by the second.

FINALLY!  The doctor enters.  But, first she wants to cover all the questions on my physical form.  Does she not know about the paper and the sweat?  When she listens to my lungs, pressing the stethoscope to my back, all I can think about is the fact that my paper vest only comes down to my waist and a blanket draped in front leaves the rear exposed.  I'm feeling less like a "Woman" and more like an embarrassed girl.  Oh well, I tell myself to get over it...I'm sure the doctor has seen much worse.

Then comes the best part...details to be excluded...but it does mean we are nearing the end of this unwell experience and I can finally put my real clothes on (ones that cover ALL necessary parts and don't make me sweat profusely). 

The good news: since I'm almost 30 I can, by doctor's recommendation, endure this humiliation every three years!  Which, I interpreted to mean, "I'll see you in three to five years!"  Apparently, there are benefits to being old...even if having wrinkles AND acne at the SAME time aren't among them.