In the Pink

I had to have a mammogram today. Now I know the theory of what happens during this procedure, but the thought of having someone squish my breasts to a strip of beef jerky didn't exactly thrill me. (Cold compress anyone?) I mean, if I wanted to be pressed chicken I'd mail myself to the deli and cluck.

Plus, I'm a bit young for mammograms, and my tissue isn't as willing to lie down and be pushed around as it might be later. (Maybe with more age your bust goes senile and likes to be pointed in the direction of home, as opposed to be stretched infinitely in the wrong direction by gravity?)

Anyhow, let me reassure any of you who might be facing a mammogram for the first time, it's not as bad as you might think. It's a bit like a large pinch that stops just short of actually hurting. Plus you get to see just how wide your boobs can be, kinda like rolling balls of play dough, then flattening them with your fist. (insert evil childish laugh here)

So now I'm not a mammogram virgin anymore, and I get to wait 6 weeks to make sure I don't win any booby prizes. No, sir-ee. The only lump I want in this house is d/h on the lounge, if he ever comes home from Melbourne. (yes, he's gone again!) I burst into near hysterical laughter as I made my way home from the mammogram bus. Why? The local lingerie store was having a big sale. They had $10 racks, $20 racks, and $50 racks according to the sign in the window. I figure after being smushed, my rack might go for less than that today.

Don't you love being a girl?