Does volunteering for physical discomfort count as bravery? Probably not, but I am counting my mammogram anyway.
My lovely mammogram tech was quite friendly, and it turns out she lives in my town. Nothing says fun like standing topless in front of a woman you may run into at the supermarket. “Hi, remember me? Yes, the melons are on special [wink, wink].”
While she maneuvered my various parts into position with a precision I can only describe as obsessive, we chatted amiably about the schools in our town. Then it was time to make some boob pancakes!
“Now, this will be a bit snug.”
Snug is putting three adults into the backseat of my Kia. A mammogram is like closing a Panini press around a grapefruit. I suppressed my eye roll because she said she liked my feather.
Anyway, after four painful squashes, it was over.
Since the mammogram story is a bit thin (get it? thin, like pancakes? get it?), I will also admit to a small moment of cowardice.
While shopping in a discount home decorating store, I witnessed a framed picture falling off the shelf, the glass shattering all over the floor. I DID NOT TOUCH THE PICTURE. I swear. However, I was standing right next to it when it fell, so it didn’t look too good.
When I told a store employee, I glossed over my proximity to the breakage, making it sound like I happened upon a pile of glass and felt I should report it, like any good citizen would.
I recognize that I missed an opportunity to be authentic in a mildly embarrassing situation. O well.
I felt a bit better when I saw the same employee coloring the chipped edge of a bureau with magic marker to mask the damage. “Good as new,” I heard him say.
It is always comforting to know that someone else is just as dishonest as you.