I’m working pantsless! For a reason! Not that I need a reason! I went to another doctor yesterday, which is starting to make me feel like one of Those People who trot around town to every doctor. “Is there anyone in Seattle who has not had their hand in my vagina? YOU? I’ll see you next Tuesday.”

And so I went, referred off to a good women’s clinic that also does lipo, apparently, because I think all small medical people have a sideline in something cosmetic now. It was fine though. There was no surprise fat suctioning. I had my junk looked in YET again.

“Okay,” the nice doctor said. “I know everyone has prodded you and looked at you, and I’m sorry to say I’m going to hurt you again.”

“Alright,” I said, resigned.

PROD PROD POKE.

“Hmm, looks like you’re ovulating,” she observed.

“ALREADY? Oh goody.”

Though I did not have SURPRISE! FAT SUCKS! I did, however, have a man take a romantic stroll around the lake, AKA, rootling around with vagina ultrasound wand! WOW! The things you can see in there.

“Are you doing okay with this pressure?” he asked me. Feet in stirrups, groovy, cool, FML, etc, a man I just met 5 minutes ago is attacking me with something that is like a cross between a plumber’s snake and a Sonicare, awesome, rad.

“Yes, it’s fine,” I said. “Have you found my keys yet?”

The nurse lost her shit. “I’ve never heard THAT one,” she said, once she stopped laughing.

The diagnosis was: ANGRY UTERUS. Angry uterus with sad abrasions all over it. No wonder I was having pain pretty regularly. Also, the rest of my junk was kind of generically inflamed and I was running low grade fevers, so the doctor gave me a round of antibiotics, which I have not taken in years.

“So, this may give you a massive yeast infection,” she said, handing me the script. “Here’s a coupon for some medicine for that.”

“Ten dollars off! Zoinks, I wonder how expensive it is?” I said.

“Come back if you’re still having problems,” she said.

“Maybe I can come back and you can install a Barbie crotch,” I replied.

The doctor’s jaw dropped, but I was very popular with the nurse that day.

And that’s it. Now I am practicing pantslessness, gobbling acidophilus and changing my underpants 7 times a day when I do have to wear pants. I feel better! I think this is about over unless my transmission suddenly falls out or something. DUN DUN DUN melodrama.

Monkeychow out!