I have recently been in the unenviable position of seeking employment. Honestly, in this economy it’s a bit of a futile trek uphill. It doesn’t help that in my job life I have jumped all over the map. However, at this phase in my life I can pretty much rule out a few occupations:
A Vampire – I mean, Bella makes it look pretty cool but seriously, how great could it be having to drink animal blood for an eternity?
A Doctor – apparently you need some kind of special license for that job or something.
And after my experience last week, A Big-Boobed Hoochie Mama is now permanently off the list (and I am just sick over the lost tips wages).
How could such an admirable career goal be dashed with one experience? Well, let me explain.
Last week, I had an appointment with the dermatologist to have a little, itty bitty, teeny tiny cyst removed – a cyst that was trying hard to mind its own business but made the doctor nervous nonetheless. Apparently, the whole idea of someone coming near me with a knife freaks me out (Thank you Nightmare on Elm Street) because the closer to the appointment it got the more nervous I became – to the point where I could not sleep the night before and was a bundle of jittery goop by the time I arrived at the office on “the day.” However, the Doctor assured me once the numbing agents were in place, I wouldn’t feel a thing and it would be no big deal. Low and behold, he was right – that numbing stuff is the bomb! So I settled down and prepared for an easy experience feeling proud of my Spartan Woman level of bravery.
But then I began to hear something– snip, snip, snip, snip.
Doc: “I know you can hear the ‘snipping’ but don’t let your imagination run away with you.”
Um, too late.
It was pretty much a quick toboggan ride downhill from there.
Me: “Doc, you should know, I feel kinda sick at the moment.”
That statement was instantly followed by cold sweats, light headedness, the urge to hurl, and the involuntary desire to pass out – which I would have done had I not already been lying down with my feet now so very attractively hiked up in the air and the AC cranked down to Arctic proportions. Right then and there I knew I had pretty much blown my whole “I am woman hear me roar” status so I tried to concentrate on preserving what dignity I had left. And then finally, after an eternity, the ordeal was over. Ok, it only took, like, 10 minutes, but it felt as if I had watched Dr. Zhivago…twice.
Later, as I lay on the recovery table of shame, the Doctor came in the room to check on me.
Doc: “How do you feel?”
Me: “Fine” (I lied, no sense in enhancing my newly acquired wimp status).
Doc: “Hey, look at the bright side…”
What, there is a bright side? I’m not as big a wimp as it seems? I won’t be trying to live down my behavior for the rest of our doctor/patient relationship? I really am the Spartan Woman I momentarily believed myself to be??
Doc: “…At least you didn’t puke on my shoes.”
Yeah, ok, I guess I will take what I can get.
But, clearly, the boob job required for me to ever acquire the rack needed for Big-Boobed Hoochie Mama employment is unequivocally off the table.
There goes that “special skill.”
Today I go back to the Doctor get my stitches out. I hope Doc chooses his shoes accordingly.
You had me cracking up! I feel for you tho. I could never be one either. Great post!
Ah well, it was a fun dream while it lasted-lol!
I hate stuff like that, too. Not fun at all!
No. I had no idea, though!
Oh god, I was about to heave just based on your mild description. (imagination overload)
Ha! Sorry, about that but thanks for reading!
Shucks. Even if you knew you’d be unconscious while they pumped up your boobs?
Yep, even then! lol
I always worried that getting a boob job might cause balance issues. I imagined my boobs bringing me down like the heavier side of the teeter totter. I swear, sometimes it’s like my imagination works in cartoon or caricature mode…
haha! Love it!
You have a wonderful capacity to handle a serious subject (and self contained clogged milk duct is what I’m pulling for) with a lot of grace, Lady. And don’t you love that turn of phrase “hoochie mama?” Bobby Rush performs that song like nobody (or noboobie)’s business. I kill me. -Nikki
PS Hoochie-ing has more components to it than big boobs, might still be in the cards? 😉
Thank you so much! And yes, I know what you mean about the Hoochie-ing w/o the big boobs!! I will definitely have to keep that in mind…just in case!
You are so hilarious! I love your sense of humor even with serious things. I hope the stitch-removal went well.
Thank you for that! And, yes, it was touchy, but went well.
I had a cyst removed and what got me was the smell of the cauterization, which I did not think would bother me at all (no I did not get sick on anyone or anyone’s shoes thank goodness). At least I had dissolving stitches – Good Luck!
ah yes, the dissolving stitches – I should have been so lucky!
You have a great sense of humor:) A fun read
Thank you! I appreciate that more than you can know!
So funny!
Thank you!
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