You’ve probably noticed that writing open hate letters is, like, a big thing on the Internet right now. It’s a super trendy way to passive-aggressively let people know just how much they annoy or piss you off. As an added bonus, it gets you a lot of attention, and—if you’re really lucky—a bunch of random Internet trolls will publically remind you what a bitch you are.
You know what pisses me off? Pap smears. More specifically, the hunk of metal known as the speculum—the (literal) opening act for a pap smear. So during my last gyno visit, as I was sitting on the exam table with “The Spec” spreading my legs like butter on a twat waffle, I decided it was time to let that sadistic motherfucker know exactly how I feel about it.
That’s when I composed not an open hate letter, but an open hate poem, to The Spec. And since I’m guessing most women feel the same way I do, I thought I’d share it with the Internet (since that’s what all the cool kids do).
So, Spec? This one’s for you, on behalf of clenching vaginas everywhere:
Oh Speculum, I Specu-loathe You
I see you there, across the room,
Itching to invade my womb.
The doctor lifts you, then down he sits
To shove you in my lady bits.
Stirruped feet, my legs spread wide—
Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.
I feel my cervix start to quake
As you cut into my ’gina cake.
RELATED: “The Ghost Tampon” (or, That Time I Lost a Tampon in my Hoo-Ha)
The way you poke me—awkward, hard—
Is like the night I lost my V-card.
As I tense up, I start to sweat,
And wonder, Is it over yet?
You part my lips, God, that’s the worst.
You move too fast—no dinner first?
Like Donald Duck, you have a beak:
You open it, and I feel weak.
I guess I clench, ’cause the doctor goes:
“Take deep breaths. Wiggle your toes.”
I want to kick him you-know-where,
But worry you’ll get stuck up there.
RELATED: Life Lessons from a Former Gyno: “Your Vagina Is Not a Black Hole”
You part my vag like the Red Sea
As the doctor does his work in me.
And once you’re gone, I’m so elated
To no longer be violated.
I specu-loathe the things you do.
I hate your job, I hate you, too.
So, with legs closed tight, I leave you here:
Until we meet again (next year).