The Blossoms are in Bloom, the Boobs are in a Vice...

Yes, it's the lovely time of year when the doctor dictates a mammogram.  As I sat in the waiting room, clad in my thin hospital gown, eyeing the "crusher", I had a revelation.  It isn't the actual picture-taking experience I hate, it's having a strange woman handle my breasts...having to stand in front of the machine, limp armed, while she picks up each breast and plops them on the waiting tray so she can lower a plastic flattening plate to see how long and thin she can get my boob.

After all these years of suffering the pain, at least the tech today explained the procedure hurts more if you don't relax your shoulders.  I assumed a less rigid stance and she's right. Poor posture eased the discomfort... but not the embarrassment.  I knew what was going through her mind..."boy, these puppies are looong... and heavy... and check out the shelf she's growing around her middle." 

Plus, this is the first time I've had someone put little sticky circles beneath each breast to mark the skin tags I've grown in the past years. If I was a farmer, I could consider I've harvested a hefty crop, but alas...  What the hell?  How come men don't have to suffer crap like this?

Anyhow, my revelation also included an brilliant idea.  For years, we've had those little photo booths where you step in, draw the curtain and have your picture taken.  Why not create a Mammo booth?  Have an instruction screen on the wall behind the "mashing" plates, and let us do our own.  I'll bet my next month's royalties that the number of women having the screening would increase.  I'm pretty sure I can heft my own tit up on a tray and hit a pedal to lower the boom.  Think of the money saved...no more gowns, no more techs...and your films would be ready in a minute.  *lol*  Great idea, huh?  Remember, you heard it here first.