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Yakkity Yap

A prostate exam is a cakewalk compared to a mammogram. Of course, I don’t actually know that personally but unless the prostate is smashed flat as a pancake in an X-ray machine, it’s a pretty safe bet. Now I’m wondering… is that even possible? That would be awkward at best. Anyway, I’m meandering. Again.

You’d think the mammo-waiting room would be… well, reserved. You’re sitting there completely vulnerable, stripped to the waist with nothing but a flimsy robe that opens in the front. You clutch it tightly—your mind racing with the possibility they’ll find the unthinkable—and you start to sweat. Hopefully the pit stains under your arms don’t show with your arms so tight against your body. But maybe that’s just me.

I sit down in the waiting room with four old ladies. I refuse to fit in. They chat as if they are old friends about their mandatory yappy little dogs. I listen in fascination, almost forgetting why I’m there. The women, Florence, Beatrice, Ethel and Mable, or at least that’s what I called them were instant BFF's. Here’s how it went down:

Florence takes out her phone to show everyone her adorable dog pictures. (I’m impressed at her tech savy, and also how she smuggled in her phone.)

Beatrice: Ohhh! He’s sooo adorable! What’s his name?

Florence: His name is Burt.

Ethel: After Burt Reynolds? (I’m thinking Burt and Ernie so I was thrown for a minute.)

Florence: But of course!

Mable: I take my little Foofie everywhere—oh, not here, of course—but to the movies restaurants, stores.

Beatrice: Will they let you take her in those places?

Mable: Oh yes, but I keep her in my purse. Anyway, I'm her ESP (Emotional Support Person) so they have to let her in.

Ethel: You should see my little Debbie. (I’m thinking cupcakes, but noooo) I dress her in the cutest little outfits every day.

Beatrice: Does she keep them on? My Maxie (You don’t wanna know what I’m thinking) just keeps pulling his little clothes off. I really do think he’s a nudist at heart.

Everyone nods.

You get the idea. Before I knew it the whole mortifying experience was over. Thanks Florence, Beatrice, Ethel and Mable. My deepest

appreciation Burt, Foofie, Little Debbie and Maxie.

I bet you don’t find that kind of entertainment in the prostate waiting room.