Don't Mince Words


Planned sexual inactivity

Posted on June 06, 2011 by Marna

Since Planned Parenthood funding was in the news first quarter, I decided to do my part to support them and have my gyn exam.  Or, as I like to call it, the annual dusting of the cob webs.

I rode my bike there hoping to look “young” and “in trouble” to the ugly white guy protestors.  Sadly, there were no men there to fight with which made my entrance oddly pleasurable compared to the 1990s.  Yes, I had the oldest lady parts in the waiting room and I smiled at each girl leaving with her brown bag of pills.  I was her once… eager to start the pill in hopes of future sex.

It appears sex has changed in a few decades.  My pre-screen was very different and the questions seemed to center around forced non-protection.  “Have you had a partner hide or sabotage your birth control in order to get you pregnant,” she asked.  She had to ask, but I had to laugh.  “You are implying that I’m getting some and I’m not.  But believe me, I’d never date a douche that would pull that kind of bullshit.”

She asked more questions that didn’t apply because I was so tragically sexually inactive. I then went to the exam room where I encountered my first gyn office gay male aide.  Now I knew I was going to have some fun.  He asked me if I was sexually active.  I asked him if he was straight and single.  He explained what I could expect from the exam and then told me he would administer my HIV test.  Ten minutes later, as I laid on the table waiting for the doctor in my paper robe, he popped his head back in and told me my results were negative.  “Cool, I’m cleared for take off,” I responded as he laughed walking out.

The doctor did her thing then ushered me to the blood letting station to ensure I didn’t have any other STIs.  My gay aide was there.

“Wow, you do it all,” I said.  “Pretty much everything except that,” he said staring at my lower hemisphere.  “Yeah, that takes some special kind of love because I couldn’t look at that all day either,” I said.

He escorted me to the checkout window where my insurance was processed and a brown bag of pills was handed to me.  I rode to work with a smile.  One day I’ll get laid, and when I do, I’ll be more prepared and more informed than a parking lot protestor.

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  • About Marna

    Marna’s writing career started as a Pentagon intern. Early exposure to $500 toilet seat press releases made her appreciate creative nonfiction. Now she has more than 25 years of senior-level marketing and communications success working with Fortune 100 companies, government, nonprofits, small businesses, startups, and agencies.

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