Let the dog in!

Once you’ve earned a certain number of grey hairs, gained a certain amount of wisdom from years of stupid experiences, then and only then, do you have the annual joy of……giant plates flattening your boobs, with an audience (who has no sense of humor but a big wad of chewing gum). Okay, it’s possible you only need to turn 40 and be female.

And on the 1-year anniversary of my first ever colonoscopy. This may just become my annual torture-myself-in-the-name-of-health day.

Ha-HA! But that’s where I’ve got them, because the boobs, the girls, the sisters, they’re already flattening themselves on their own.

Either way, I don’t really mind the slight discomfort. See, when cancer shows up in your family where it has no business being, you volunteer for all the smushing, radiating, probing, feeling, poking, and testing you can get.

What about here? Did you get this spot?

They are TURNING ME DOWN for more tests. I feel relief getting a test. I’m nothing if not an excellent test-taker.

GIMME MORE, GIMME MORE!

Haiiiiii-YAAAA! Take that, you free radicals!

I shall now attempt to re-fluff the girls while I take my vitamin D with mypomegranate juice.

And, you women, go forth and be smushed!

Note: Please do it officially; your *ahem* friend’s attempts don’t really count….

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