Greeks invented everything, you know.

Excuse the TMI, I'm just a bit preoccupied because I've got to go and be scraped with the mini bog brush today for the second time in six months. Apparently about 10% of tests come back with minor abnormalities which should clear up on their own but they've got to double check after half a year.

Honestly, I'm not remotely worried about the results. The chances of my having any form of reproductive system cancer are extremely slim as there is no family history and I do not fit the major risk categories in terms of age and general well-being. Plus if it's caught within six months of finding the original faint abnormalities I have total faith that it could be cured very quickly.

I shouldn't whinge, really, and I should thank my countryman for his groundbreaking and life-saving technique. Honest to God, I'm not really complaining, especially since I have such easy access to something that other women in the developing world are barely aware of. I just find that the indignity of it all is what gets to me. The cranking open and the scrapy-scrapy. *Shudder*

Meh. It'll be fine. And I get to leave work early for the afternoon on a warm day, so there's always a silver lining.

For some reason I am reminded of my sister, clamped to a breast pump around three days after the birth of her gorgeous son, wincing occasionally and saying, with a sigh: "It's not the soreness or the discomfort I object to, it's the feeling like a dairy cow."