Yes, it was time for the annual mammogram. And in keeping with Rocks in my Dryer, I now have the opportunity to use the word ‘squish’ and all its derivates (squished, squishes, squisher, metasquish, squishy, squishesque, desquish, unsquish, presquish, postsquish) like about a squatillion times which is awesome.
What a slick operation. I left my house at 8:36 and returned home at 9:29 and that included a twenty minute drive both ways and a stop at Tim Horton’s to reward myself with an extra large coffee with double cream postsquish.
I won’t even hold it against my squish tech that she can pull off a fuschia pink hospital uniform with white knee socks. See, how I’m so over that? I don’t even feel the need to mention it.
My clinic of choice didn’t require a hospital gown, which I have to say is very forward thinking–and has to be a huge savings for the medical system (no gown purchases, no laundry). I was told to go in the change room, take off my bra and just put my top back on. Once in the room, I could just take off the top once required. I like that, because I think there’s nothing that can make you feel more sick than a hospital gown. Nope, this was more like I was auditioning for the local strippery.
More importantly though, my squishing machine’s name was Sophie. It was tattooed right on her forehead. So, you know like Rosie the Riveter, Sophie the Squisher. I like it when machines have names. That way, once the machines become sentient and we finally dispense with the illusion that humans are running the show, I will be on a first name basis with my squishing machine. And, frankly, I think that THAT is an important machine to be on a first name basis with. I can just imagine the squishing horror if I’m introduced to my squishing machine and make the faux pas of not remembering her name. Although I’ll have to remember not to add ‘The Squisher’ when we meet. A tough enough broad to to have her name tattooed on her forehead head she might be, but that toughness might not extend to appreciating a human invented nickname. I can just see it…The servant with the fuschia uniform brings me in for my ‘audition.’
Christina, you remember Sophie?
Ah, yes, Sophie the Squisher. Nice to see you again.
I’m sorry, what did you just call me? (I can see her flex her squishing muscles)
Huh? What? Oh, is that my phone? Gosh, I think we’re going to have to re-schedule. I’ll call to re-book. Bye.
So, to summarize, in haiku…
Off in the morning
chill. To get squished by Sophie.
Now, we’re best of friends.
Dec. 24 Update: Just received the letter in the mail informing me my results are NORMAL (in all caps and bolded). So there. I have a letter that proves I’m normal. Just saying.
Lovin’ the haiku!
*Squish, squishy, squish, squwaa?
Squishy, wishy, mishy, SQUISH!
Ska-wish, ska-wish…. squish.
*Needs to be said out loud
Sound poetry/ haiku by: Sarah
I go to be squished on Christmas Eve.
I’m calling the event, “Merry Squishmas.”
Jennifer was squished about a little over a month ago.