Gramming Ya Mammies!
Next month when I turn 40, apart from sitting around waiting with joyous anticipation for my 'life to begin', I also have to face the fact that now would be a wise time to start getting my tits squashed (and not a man in sight!). Yep, I'm talking about the much dreaded mammogram [insert Jaws theme music here].
I've heard some nasty things about this procedure, so to be honest, I'm not keen to be starting off this part of my life...but considering it's such an important issue, it really needs to be done. I read somewhere that to prepare my upper body for this invasion, I should lay down on a cold concrete driveway, flop a boob out, and let someone back over it with their car. What the fuck??! This vision alone has my tits shrinking back up into my chest (ok, that's a big ask for a couple of DDs but you get the idea)...but more importantly it does not have me running toward the radiographer in celebration.
So in tribute to my breasts and the ordeal they're going to be subjected to in the next couple of months, I post this poem.
(DB, I shall get around to the list of "10 things I haven't done" very soon. Oh, and I expect you to be feeling all warm and fuzzy at the moment due to me mentioning your name and my breasts in the same post.)
***
For years and years they told me, be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them, and give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings, and protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully, And I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care, my gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a mammogram "O.K," I said, "let's do it."
"Stand up here real close" she said, (She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said, "Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."
She stepped upon a pedal, I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down, My hooter's in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled, from underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed, to Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt, within it's vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing, my poor defenseless tit!
"Take a deep breath" she said to me...Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine, and woozy I am getting.
"There, that's good," I heard her say, (The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one." Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down, it squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done, To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this, I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again, my knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in, I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there, It would have gone "ker-pow!"
This machine was created by a man, Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there, and see how THEY come out!
I've heard some nasty things about this procedure, so to be honest, I'm not keen to be starting off this part of my life...but considering it's such an important issue, it really needs to be done. I read somewhere that to prepare my upper body for this invasion, I should lay down on a cold concrete driveway, flop a boob out, and let someone back over it with their car. What the fuck??! This vision alone has my tits shrinking back up into my chest (ok, that's a big ask for a couple of DDs but you get the idea)...but more importantly it does not have me running toward the radiographer in celebration.
So in tribute to my breasts and the ordeal they're going to be subjected to in the next couple of months, I post this poem.
(DB, I shall get around to the list of "10 things I haven't done" very soon. Oh, and I expect you to be feeling all warm and fuzzy at the moment due to me mentioning your name and my breasts in the same post.)
***
For years and years they told me, be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them, and give them monthly tests.
So I heeded all their warnings, and protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully, And I always wore my bra.
After 30 years of astute care, my gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a mammogram "O.K," I said, "let's do it."
"Stand up here real close" she said, (She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said, "Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."
She stepped upon a pedal, I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down, My hooter's in a vise!
My skin was stretched and mangled, from underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed, to Swedish Pancake thin.
Excruciating pain I felt, within it's vise-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing, my poor defenseless tit!
"Take a deep breath" she said to me...Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine, and woozy I am getting.
"There, that's good," I heard her say, (The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one." Have mercy, I was praying.
It squeezed me from both up and down, it squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done, To HER tender little hide.
Next time that they make me do this, I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again, my knockers getting steam rolled.
If I had no problem when I came in, I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there, It would have gone "ker-pow!"
This machine was created by a man, Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his balls in there, and see how THEY come out!
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