So I got a little distracted at my house last night and couldn’t bring myself to have a laptop session and so I didn’t write. Boo me. Oh well. Here we go.
First, the random.
I was talking to a coworker today and it went a little something like this:
Me: You know, I think I love twitter more than I like facebook. Twitter is so much more fun because it’s my daily chance to say the most inappropriate thing as efficiently as possible.
Her: Oh, I know. I thought of you the other night, actually. I was so tired after work that I was at my house thinking, “You know you’re tired when you can’t even bring yourself to have a little “me” time with yourself before bed.” Then I thought of you.
Me: Huh. Interesting to think of me following a, I’m too tired to rub one out, thought. I like it.
Her: Ha! I was going to post that on twitter but thought, I CAN’T. But I bet Heather would.
She’s right. I would have posted that. Or just found the rabbit, which is even LESS energy than the manual rub out OR typing on twitter, but that’s just me.
So that was random. The other random thing that happened to me this week is that I learned the difference between a German doctor and an American one.
There are no gowns or robes. And so I spent an afternoon naked with my German doctor.
First I had an appointment with a regular doctor that was uneventful. The only thing to report there was that sitting in a waiting room filled with people who don’t speak English is really stressful because you have to just be ENTHRALLED in whatever German magazine is closest to look like you’re unavailable for chats about the weather or why your child is visiting or what shade of magenta you’re going to dye your hair this month. So that was fun.
But of course the German jage doctor was much MORE FUN.
“Oh, Frau Smith, you are AMERICAN.” This was the first thing she said to me when I sat down.
“Really? We’re kicking it off with that? Already?” This launched me into fight mode, which is somewhat because Friday night I was forced to fight some German painter man at the bar at the train station in front of all of his construction working friends because he TESTED ME but that is a different battle story for a different post.
“Oh, well it’s no problem, except today we do not have a gown for you. In Germany, we do not do gowns. And so since we thought you were German, we have no gown. Is this a problem?” I’m wondering where the fuck the local gown store is and how many days it takes to get one of those open back paper numbers but it’s best not to let them see you thinking too deeply in front of them, I think because they consider it more plotting than thinking and so I stopped.
“Well, lucky for you, I’m not shy. Naked it is. But fully naked or…”
“Yes, yes, take all your clothes off. Stand there, put them there.” She gestured to some little dressing area that was nothing more than one of those little asian divider wall things that actually didn’t divide the room into anything else and a stool meant for all of my stuff. Then I was blinded by the light. All three windows had the blinds up and natural sunlight, my very worst enemy, filled the room. I was now squinting. It was also really fucking cold in there, which was good for naked boobs, I reasoned, but awful for my legs, which would probably start acting like they were frostbitten and turn purple. All of these thoughts were making my neck break out into a horrifyingly itchy and pink rash. Shit.
“Right. Ok, sure, no problem.” Then I just sat there. So did she.
“Ohhhh. Like right now. While you sit there. Like in front of you.” Well, being naked for an hour in front of a stranger is one thing. Getting the clothes off in the least awkward fashion is quite another.
Typically the only times you take your clothes off are when you’re by yourself or with the person you’re bedding. And as women, we all know there is a science to undressing in front of men. You don’t just bend down and untie your sneakers with no shirt on. You have to arch your back and twist all sexy like with your leg kicked up to get a goddamned sock off. The shirt comes over your head all slowly and then you could, if you’re feeling REAL sexy one night, toss your hair around like you’re Giselle or something. Pants are wiggled off all cute like and there is little going on that would mirror touching your toes unless your body fat is below 5%. Taking your clothes off is like mastering a Pilates class. It takes years of hard work and can change with each season, depending on important factors like how tan you are or how fat winter made you. Skinny AND tan? Fuck it. Undress however you want and congrats.
But really. Who knows what the hell the routine is when you’re standing in front of a 200 pound German woman with massive hands. So, I did what anyone would do. Create as much confusion as humanly possible by undressing as fast as can be. Clothes were just flying around and I felt tossing in story about how much I LOVE GERMANY would help distract us both from any sort of unwanted awkwardness.
But then I didn’t know what she wanted me to do when I was naked and so I just stood there, with my arms by my sides, kind of twisting around like some fucking shy 13-year-old waiting to be picked at the middle school dance. Normally I would have jumped my ass up on some table and strapped my legs into some metal but none of that was in the room.
She pointed to some plastic chair that looked like it could shoot me straight through the roof, kind of like a rocket, but with foot rests, but not of the metal variety. So, I went and sat in the chair, hoping that she disinfected the seat after someone used it last time because at this point, I was really not interested in getting some sort of German ass disease.
And so to save you the rest of the vagina details, I spent the rest of the hour fully naked, chatting up a storm, 3 feet in the air and tipped backwards, like I was just having the time of my life on some perverted carnival ride.
Slightly more than I bargained for at noon on weekday, but all in all, good times. A little nudity in broad daylight in front of a stranger never killed anyone. Actually, it probably has.
And as I went to step out her door she said,
“Frau Smith, very nice to meet you. Next time you come, I will have in your file, No gown! Like a German.”
Well jesus fuck. I wouldn’t go that far.