I have a boob issue.
Or not.
It’s still unclear.
So today I wore the wrong outfit to a breast specialist and waited my turn to see Dr. S. in a room filled with cancer patients. They made me feel humble and grateful and scared all at once.
My turn came soon enough and I did as I was instructed: I took off everything on top (leaving only my black leggings on bottom…an ill fitting pair at that) and put on a very short, very pink, very papery gown.
Let’s stop and think about that for a second…mental picture, if you will. Erin with a pair of too tight leggings with fat rolling over sides, sitting on a table where her hips are spread in said leggings and belly crunched, where a not so hawt pink paper gown barely touches the bottom of her bulging belly button.
Oh, it was sexy let me tell you.
Anyway…
Dr. S. entered to see me in all my pink and black glory, asked me a few questions, felt my tits, gave me instructions, then walked out the door by saying “Ok then, DOLL, I’ll see you next week.”
The man just felt me up, called me “Doll” and walked out.
I visably scoweled and squinched my face when he said it…and he left in an awkward rush.
This is going to make for a really uncomfy second appointment. Or maybe not. Because like many things, this may just be an issue to me and it may be on my mind and he may not have even REALLY noticed and hasn’t given it a second thought. Or a first.
Either way, next week I’d like dinner and a movie first.
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