I am officially old as hell. Here’s how I know:

Recently I went to my regular doctor checkup- look at me, being so adult. And that bish was like, “Oh, you need a mammogram.” I commenced giving her some serious side eye. But I give people benefit of the doubt because I’m a grown up. So I reminded her how young and vibrant and well… young I am. She suppressed a giggle and told me women over 40 need to have regular mammograms. Now I know she’s got my chart with my birthdate right there in black and white, but she could at least have pretended to be surprised by my advanced age, no? Nope, she went straight for the mammogram form.

I called and made an appointment like a proper adult and even got dressed up for the occasion. I don’t know about you, but when I am planning on showing someone the “cash and prizes” I definitely want to look my best. They told me to show up without deodorant or perfume which ewww. But ok, I do as I am told. I check in for my appointment and take a seat in the waiting room with plenty of my fellow AARP members. I am called back and ushered into a dressing room area where the very judgey lady gives me the up-and-down once over look and smirks as she says “Oh. You wore a dress…” with a slight eye roll added for emphasis. Ya bitch, I was dressing up for this shit.

Apparently everyone but me knows psychically to wear a top and bottom so you only need to remove your shirt and bra and therefore can retain some shred of dignity. But alas, my psychic connection was malfunctioning that morning and I wore a pretty dress. Fuck me. So I change out of everything I have on and put on their lovely (vomit, yuck) hospital gown with the flappy open part IN THE FRONT because why not make this worse, eh? I sit back in the waiting room trying to hold my goodies in and overcompensating with regal posture and a haughty attitude.

When I am called back the woman and I struggle and wrestle my tatas one at a time into a giant plastic machine that gives them each a not so gentle hug. It’s awkward and cold and kind of a bonding experience with this random stranger. I felt like we should exchange instas at least, I mean you saw my boobs and that’s a pretty small club right there. But nope, she didn’t even walk me out. I was told my boobs were unusually “dense” which I chose to take as a compliment (I think I actually said thank you) and I may have to come in for a second scan.

Thankfully that was not the case and I got a short and sweet letter in the mail about a week later letting me know that the tits, they’re all right.