Listen. When you’re a socially awkward, introverted person, normal, every-day activities can easily turn into a cringefest. Furthermore, I have a habit of making already awkward situations even more awkward, if that’s even possible.
Let me give you an example.
Yesterday, I went to see my OB/GYN for my annual checkup, and I had been dreading it for weeks. Partially because of my social anxiety, but also because it just freaking sucks.
Anyone who’s ever had a speculum cranked up inside their vag knows what I mean.
After stepping on the scale, which is never a confidence booster, I was ushered into a room decorated wall to wall in Anne Geddes posters.
The nurse always asks about your last period and tries to chat and lighten the mood while taking your blood pressure, “How are the kids?”
Then, they hand you the super comfortable and plush, pink paper bolero jacket and white paper sheet to drape, crinkle or crunch over your lap, tell you what to do with them as if you don’t already know, and ask you to strip down.
Now, I know I’m not the only one who does this, and for the life of me, I have no idea why, but I always tuck my underwear and bra inside my clothes so the medical professionals about to literally stare at my crotch won’t see them.
The nurse told me the doctor would be a while, so after I put on the paper robe, I grabbed my phone so I could answer a few emails while I waited.
A few minutes later, I realized it would be super weird for me to hold my phone while my doctor was doing his business, so I figured I had a minute to hop off the table and put it back in my purse. Why I didn’t just throw it, I have no clue.
Sure as hell, the second I put my phone away, and turned around to hop back in the stirrups, my doctor knocked and opened the door at the same time (because waiting for a response before entering isn’t a thing apparently), and there we were.
My doctor staring at me, door wide open, and me standing there, staring at him like a deer in headlights, completely naked except for my pink paper bolero jacket which doesn’t cover shit below my rib cage.
For the purposes of this story, I should probably mention that my doctor is even more socially awkward that I am. Like Sheldon Cooper level awkward.
He hesitated and started to shut the door, but then changed his mind and decided to come inside as I scrambled to hop on the table, cover my lap with the large piece of crepe paper blanket, and said, “Oh sorry, doctor, I was just putting something away. I’m so sorry you had to see that.”
WHAT?
WHY WOULD I SAY THAT?
Why am I this way?
I wanted to crawl in a hole and die, and I was absolutely mortified that he saw me standing there naked despite the fact this man had seen me birth two babies and at one point, had a whole arm, hand to elbow, up my vagina to help me dilate.
Once I was settled back in the stirrups, he didn’t miss a beat and said, “So how are things? Any problems?”
The rest of the exam proceeded as normal, and the embarrassment and awkwardness that already comes with having your boobs groped by someone other than your husband, and hearing the words, “scoot down,” were only amplified because I had already made an ass out of myself.
I don’t think he could have gotten out of there faster, and to be honest, neither could I. Once we were done, I got dressed as quickly as possible, keeping my eye on the door the entire time.
So, to all the women out there, who endure this uncomfortable process year after year, I raise my sterile urine collection cup to you.
And next time you are hiding those undies under your shirt, and tucking that white paper sheet under your butt so they won’t see it when they open the door and come in the room, you’ll think of me and my pink paper bolero jacket and laugh.
And maybe make an already awkward situation a little less awkward.
It happens to the best of us, right?
