Something worse than Muzak

I discovered something worse than Muzak at my gynecologist’s office today.

Let me set the scene, one that all women can relate to. I’m sitting there on the paper-covered examining table, dressed in a tiny, cropped paper vest that opens in the front. Judging from the gaping width in the middle, it  was clearly not designed for anyone who actually has breasts.  Draped over my legs and clutched to my front is a sheet of paper the size of a small tablecloth, with the texture and durability of cheap toilet paper.

And it was cold today, cold enough that it was chilly in that exam room.

And I waited there, freezing in my paper garb. And waited. And thumbed through a magazine. Then waited some more.

And all the while, the Doobie Brothers were playing over the office’s sound system. I despise the Doobie Brothers. The only greater torture would be a half hour of listening to gansta rap. Or really whiny country music. I couldn’t make the Doobie Brothers go away! One song after another…it finally became funny. So when the doctor came in at long last, and put her stethoscope on my back, it tickled and I laughed as Michael McDonald continued to serenade us.

It was the longest. Doctor. Visit. Ever.