I hate going to the gynecologist. My doctor is a wonderful person and I actually feel guilty that I HATE to go see her. It’s not her, it’s the procedure.

Something happens to my mouth when I’m lying on the table. I end up talking and talking far too much about things that aren’t really important because I’m so uncomfortable. This time, I almost forgot to ask her the one thing that I wanted to ask about:

“Oh, before I forget, I had a question to ask.”

“Okay…”

“When you read Cosmo and those other magazines, they make you think that everyone has a Brazilian wax, but…”

“They don’t.”

“Yeah, you would know.” By then I was sitting up. “So, what would you say is the percentage?”

She looked above my head as if she was reading the answer off the wall behind me. Her nose crinkled and she responded, “I’d say about ten percent. Of course, that includes all the variations.”

“Yeah, why should I know about variations? It’s like they’re creating different haircuts or something.”

She laughed, “It just the media. They’re just trying to do something new.”

I nod and she asked me if I’m still taking generic on my birth control prescription. “You’re going to bleed a little this time.” She handed me a pantyliner, but I came prepared with a pad.

“Yeah, I know. I do every time…”

When is birth control going to go over the counter so that I don’t have to do this every year?