random thoughts in the waiting room

I’m in the gynecologist’s waiting room. This place induces anxiety.

The nurse just called a woman’s name – her name is Echo. I wanted to go “Echo–” real soft.

The tv is on The Price is Right. Good grief.

Now in the exam room. My nurse said “good for you, girl” about the weight I’ve lost since last year.

Great. My nurse told me my doc left to go deliver a baby and would be back in 30 minutes. Like Dominoes.

Maybe he will bring back some pizza. I’m getting hungry.

I guess I’m supposed to hang out in the purdy blue gown.

The oldies station is on, “Kerry Ann” is on. My middle name is not Ann.

Thank God for iPhones.

I’m now texting friends about the ridiculousness that is my life.

You know, the only appropriate accessories for a gynecologist appointment are toe rings and anklets.

I’m not mentioning vajayjay piercings because ew.

The iPhone tried to correct vajayjay to “Raja.”

I’m being held hostage. I’m going to sue. Maybe I’ll sue them for making me listen to crappy music.

Really, if I was a spy and a foreign country was trying to get me to divulge secrets, all they would have to do is play bad music and take away my iPhone.

I would be a very bad spy.

I would be a better Bond girl. If Bond liked redheaded chubby girls.

They replaced the chair in here with a new pretty slipper chair, but didn’t paint.

Now it’s “Bang a Gong.”

How long have I been in here? Where’s my pizza?

“Sexual Healing” is on. Appropriate or no for the gynecologist’s office?

This is the most surreal appointment ever.

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