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Yipee It's time for the physical! (said no one ever!)

Raise your hand if you're ever excited for your annual physical?

 Anyone?

 Anyone?

 Didn't think so.

 I think it's a particularly unpleasant experience for women. I know men aren't all that thrilled to turn their head and cough during their exam and I have heard the prostrate exam might involve a little more than coughing, but trust me guys you get away easy.

 I think the dread of the exam has heightened for me through the years. No I take that back - it's not something I merely think it's something I know I dread! And it starts with the first task after the nurse calls your name - the scale. And it's not a little scale, I mean it's got neon flashing lights displaying what it says is your weight. And it never matches the number to the scale at home or the number I actually want to see! And then the nurse, who you just know is trying not to laugh or comment, walks you to the examination room where the second most dreaded part of the exam is about to begin. No, not the actual exam - but the donning of the paper 'gown' that I swear is getting smaller. Probably trying to preserve the number of trees felled for the benefit of modesty and just plain dignity. Ironic that the 'gowns' have gotten smaller as the number that the scale reads is larger. Huh, wonder it there's a correlation? Nah, probably not. Though the 'gown' is smaller, at least it's pink and we all know how much better we all feel about that - right?

 I won't even discuss the actual exam, because why describe misery when your blog is entitled "The Glass if Half Full" and you're known for your Pollyanna-like ability to see the positive in most every situation. Well, I can't really find a positive in the actual degradation of the exam - so I will just skip it. Because that makes it all better! Ha!

 The exam ends with promises to make the scale say a lower number next year (through effort of some sort on my part not the scale's) and to take care of myself because no one else will. And then there are referrals to make for more appointments that promise great things like getting the girls squished between two glass plates while holding on to the torture device at awkward angles (again wearing a pretty pink gown) and trying not to fall while having seemingly normal conversations with some woman you hope to never run into while shopping or at church or out to dinner with the husband. Then for me there is usually another appointment a month or two later to have the girls hang low while laying at another awkward angle inside a loud tube. Though for the latter appointment, the MRI, they don't usually give you a pretty paper gown - but some drab (though cloth) hospital gown. 

 So, I say, bring it on! I know what to expect. Only this year, I'll trick that mean scale and hold my breath - 'cuz that will definitely make the flashing neon letter a smaller more accurate one. Right?

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