Like diamonds

I love Kathy Griffin and her show My Life on the D-List.

She’s who I want to be when I grow up.  Except with a family and about 3000 fewer surgical procedures.  Although, guess what?  She was wearing a bikini on last night’s episode . . . and she looked fucking AMAZING.

So there’s that.

So I want to be riotously funny and look fucking amazing in a bikini when I grow up.  Like Kathy Griffin.  But without the vajazzling.

Because vajazzling?  What the fuck?

Why would you want to be all bejeweled and sparkly down there?  I do not get that at all.

Where was I?  Oh yeah!

The episode last night?  She was working with a women’s health organization and trying to figure out a way to raise public awareness about the need for women to get yearly pap smears.

And by the way?  After the age of 30?  My medical provider no longer does yearly pap smears . . . instead, they suggest once every two-three years.  What’s up with that, cost-cutting motherfuckers at Kaiser administration?

Anyway.

Kathy Griffin decides to get a pap smear done poolside, at a fancy hotel, with the public and the press in attendance.

I know!  I love her.

In preparation for this event?  She gets waxed.  And vajazzled.

So fucking funny!  Mark and I were laughing so hard.

And then?  She demands that her male assistant get his balls waxed.  And because she has already had him chemically castrated (apparently . . . although I missed that episode), he agrees.

And people?  That part of the show is one of the funniest things I have seen on television in a long long time.  I was dying.  I was crying and giggling and choking on my giggles.  I was actually smacking my hands against my legs.

Yes, it was an actual knee-slapper.

And then?  It got funnier.

Because I glance over at Mark.

And Mark?  Is not laughing.

Mark is silent.  He is a weird shade of gray.  His legs are crossed tightly.  His arms are folded tightly against his chest.  His hands are tucked up under his armpits.  His head is pulled all the way back into his chair, and his face is taut with cringing horror.

No one believes me when I say that I fall out of my chair laughing sometimes, but people?  I fell out of my chair.

Happy sighs.

Ok, in keeping with the theme of women’s health?

I know!  I am all themed today!

You know how you are supposed to do monthly breast self-exams?

People!  You so are.

Anyway . . . why don’t they aim these messages at men?  Because if Mark was tasked with the job of checking out my boobs in great detail once a month?  He would be all over that.

Have you ever had a man offer to help you lather up in the bath or shower?  You know, just a friendly offer to help you get those hard to reach places clean?  Like that spot right between your shoulder blades that you can never quite reach.

So handy to have a man around, sometimes.

Except with Mark?  That spot right between my shoulder blades?  It’s going to stay dirty.

But my boobs?  They are going to sparkle like soapy diamonds.

No bedazzling required.

I always imagine that Mark thinks I have little flipper arms that can’t . . . quite . . . reach . . . my own boobs.

Snort.

Maybe that’s why they don’t give men the job of doing their wives’ breast exams, now that I think about it.  Men are easily distracted.  And you are not supposed to have sex in the middle of a breast exam.

Kaiser frowns on that, I believe.

OK, so last night, I am lying in bed.  Staring up into the snorey dark.  Thinking about Kathy Griffin and her message of taking responsibility for your own well-being.  And I figure I may as well do part of that breast self-exam while I’m lying there in the dark.

I know!  She is all inspiring.

And then?  Lying there in the dark?  Checking my boobs?

I got distracted.

Note to Kaiser . . . It is possible to have sex while in the midst of a breast exam.

The dark was still all snorey, by the way.

And the boobs?  They are perfect.  Like diamonds.

No bedazzling required.

In case you were wondering.

Note to new readers . . . Don’t be scared.  Sometimes I am like this.

Snort!