So pap smears.
It sure is an ugly word, isn’t it? Pap. Pap. Pap. Pappy. Pap-arazzi. Pap-eroni. OK, I’ve gone too far.
But guess what – getting your yearly pap smear (drumroll please)… isn’t that bad! In fact, it’s downright doable. Here’s why:
1) It gives you peace of mind. Until you have one, who knows what could be lurking down there? You could have tusks. Or a parasitic vagina twin. Or a Keebler elf living in there, cranking out Fudge Stripes. One never knows for sure. After your test results come back, and you get a clean bill of health, you feel as pure and virginal as your own mother would like to believe you are! And if your test doesn’t come back clean, well, you’ve got your work cut out for you. But at least you’re no longer in the dark. Like that Keebler elf.
2) It is probably the only time in your entire life when you will ever have your vagina looked at with a complete lack of judgement. Your doctor, no matter whether it is a man or a woman, could care less about that beard you’ve been allowing to grow down there for the last few months. THEY HAVE SEEN WORSE. We all have insecurities about our pussies – Is my left labia longer than my right? Is my vaginal opening too narrow? Is my clit piercing getting infected? – but your friendly neighborhood OB-GYN is not there to laugh at you. They are there to prod you with cold metal instruments. But that’s a step in the right direction, am I right?!
So what exactly is going to happen once you drop trou and lay back on that sterilized table? I’m sure many of you already know, but it’ll be fun to go through the basics. Also: if this procedure doesn’t sound at all familiar to you, and last time you went for a pap test the doctor was dressed as John Wayne Gacy and asked you to suck his finger while he examined you, perhaps it’s time to switch doctors.
First, the doctor will ask you to spread your legs and put your feet up in the stirrups. This will make you feel hilariously like some sort of farm animal, and a chuckle of lighthearted mirth will escape your prostrate body.
All laughter will instantly drain from you when the doctor pulls out the speculum. Imagine if a medieval torture device and a pair of salad tongs had a baby. That baby is what a speculum would look like.
Not to fear, though. He’s going to grease that mother right up for you. Sometimes they nuke the lubricant for a few seconds so it’s nice and warm and cozy, but more often they just slather it on there like they’re buttering a crumpet.
Next, this instrument of pain and suffering is going inside your body, no matter how little excitement that idea brings you. But stop freaking out.
This really does not hurt. I swear it to you. Is it comfort beyond all imagining? Is it comparable to sinking one’s tired bones into the armchair of God himself, complete with a free massage from scores of twittering cherubim and seraphim? No. It is not. But if all goes according to plan, that sucker should slide right in there with no problem whatsoever.
The doctor should now be peering into the gaping (all right, the slightly ajar) void of your pussy like there’s a particularly close football game being played in there. He is not collecting spank-bank material. He is just having a looksee at your cervix, which, as we all know, is that ring that keeps babies from constantly tumbling out of our bodies and getting left behind on bus seats. And who knows – perhaps your cervix is winking right back at him.
Now he is going to collect a teeny, tiny sample of the cells that make up your cervix. This, too, is far less painful than it sounds. He is going to go in there with a small, metal instrument, not unlike something a dentist would wield. You will feel a tiny, sharp pinch somewhere around your navel. It is not the kind of pain that elicits screams and horror-movie-audience gasps from the nursing assistants. It is the kind of pain that might cause you to merely wince a little bit.
It’s over! He’s sliding the salad tongs out! Your feet are being released from the stirrups! It took, like, LITERALLY fifteen seconds! You have crossed that noble bridge of womanhood that each and every one of us must conquer if we want healthy, shiny, sparkly vaginas. My hat is off to you, m’lady. It is a far, far better thing you do now than you have ever done before.
So now what? Well, you’re pretty much free to go. The doc will call you within a week or two (depending on how much he likes you) to let you know if anything was wrong down there. If all systems are go, congratulations! You are now the owner of a recently inspected vag. In all honesty though, the NYPD will probably still pull you over, renewed inspection or not. Wait, what are we talking about?