So I had to visit the Lady Bits Doctor today to follow up on some fol-de-rol having to do with things you don’t, and I can pretty much guarantee this, want to know anything about. All is well, and aside from some Helpful Advice I am pretty much off the hook for a year, provided that I GET MY MAMMOGRAM. Over and Out.
Anyway, I had to go into the ultrasound room which for those not In The Know is a little room with a scary piece of equipment in it that is designed to see your personal entrails via (if you are lucky) a hand-held doo-dad that glides harmlessly over your stomach or whatever they are trying to look at or (if you are not all that lucky) a “wand” type device that, um, visits you in a very personal, intimate manner after buying you dinner and bringing you flowers and chocolates.
Okay, not so much. But it should.
So I entered this room, resigned to my fate which now included disrobing from the waist down and looking at the ceiling and humming loudly “God Save Our Queen” or similar. I entered this room and there was the scary machine, and all the things that go with the scary machine, and the lovely table with foldaway hardware meant to support the extremities of the hapless victims of the scary machine, and there lurking in the very corner, cowering from contact with the scary machine, was a fully dressed Christmas tree.
Fully dressed, I say, and damned fortunate to be so. But I digress.
I present it here that you may marvel in its festive greenery.
Try not to look at the wand. I dare you.