Having re-established my medical coverage, I went on in to have my annual exam. I love my nurse practitioner so I don’t generally avoid what is ALWAYS an uncomfortable experience. And frankly, there have been some very recent experiences where I have literally said, “I’d rather be getting a pap smear right now.” Because 1) they’re relatively quick, and 2) No one’s talking to me and or asking me where shit is. Yes, my standards for contentment are low right now. Hey, life is a desert plateau right now…not a mountain or meadow in sight, ya’ll.
So, as I was saying, I’m getting my physical. Typical battery of questions, my blood pressure kicks ass, my lungs are legendary, EKG is poetry, yeah me. Then it’s time to assume the position. I lay back, slip into those sexy stirrups (who I swear I heard snickering), and then its:
“Can you scoot down, just a bit, Kellie? Thanks.”
“Scoot down just a little more.”
“Just a little more.”
I know I’ve got to the desired position because there’s a familiar draft hitting my butt cheeks. I hate that breeze. If I was on a beach, in an appropriately cut bathing suit or silk caftan, that breeze would be welcome. But I’m not. I’m in a two piece paper shit show, and my butt involuntarily tightens in anticipation. And then it happens.
Phssst. I let a baby butt trumpet go. Yes, ya’ll I pooted right there in front of my friendly medical provider.
Cool points? Gone.
Pride? Never to return.
Dignity? That bitch never showed up to the appointment.
My hand instantly flies up in humiliation. And all I could muster was, “My bad, girl.”
I’ve been seeing this person for years, so there’s plenty of rapport, but not FART rapport, you know? Not a relationship that would let this shit go unacknowledged. That kind of privilege is for old white men with ear hair. And I’m a black chick with leg hair. Different right.
Ever gracious, he tried to make me feel better and say, “Hey, what are you gonna do? It happens, and there’s absolutely no way to hold it in this position.”
And I felt a wave of empowerment I never got in my Women’s Studies class. Yeah, that’s right motherfuckers. I fart. And I’m still cute. Bam.
Just a little reminder that re-directing the sci-fi standards we have on ourselves is a never-ending process. Even in the most vulnerable position (literally), I want to remain a cocoa angel with a rose scented vagina, no cellulite and a rectum that operates like a TV; on one minute off the next.
So, rock your bodily functions like that overpriced bag or upgraded phone you just got. Cuz there will come a time when you wish all of your body functions worked properly. Need an example of rocking the antithesis of traditional beauty? Here’s one of my favorites: