OK, so I’m floating around the Internet (in theory trying to catch up on blogs, but in actuality just postponing writing the wholesome, family oriented post I was gonna do – yay, July 4th!) and I come across a post about mammograms. I’m reading this post and I realize that I can’t clearly recall whether I’ve had one or not… ?!? I stop, I pause, I rack my brain, I grab my rack. I have a vague recollection of metal plating and a technician, but maybe that was just that episode of Weeds?
Am I losing my fricking mind? Or have I just had one too many unpleasant female procedures done? There have been so many technicians and so many metal objects. (WTF is up with those metal beds, btw?) None of them have been as truly horrible as the horror stories tell you. (The exception being my amnio, which I will never post about lest it turn into one of those horror, true-life, floating around the Internet stories that freak out soon-to-be-new moms and get quoted as “what will happen” instead of the very small statistical probability that it was. (That’s called responsible blogging.))
So what the hell, man? I know my memory isn’t as spry as it used to be, even without being laced once with preggo senility hormone, but can my memory, my brain, still be so damaged from pregnancy that, three years later, I don’t know for sure whether I’ve had my boobs squished before a live audience? (I mean, besides bar incidences. Those aren’t very clear either.)
Do you know, once in a bar, I kissed a girl and I had forgotten about that until Keen reminded me?
Maybe I should ask him if I’ve had a mammogram.