Good Gynecology

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“Have you recently made love with any barnyard animals?”

Gina was confused.

“Any romantic encounters with exuberant house pets?”

Dr. Smintz put his face between her legs, angling his head. “Have you ever lost consciousness at a petting zoo?”

Gina, her feet high in the stirrups, was starting to worry.

“Have you ever been manhandled by a college dropout? Ever been forcibly romanced by a circus performer?”

Gina peeked through her knees at Dr. Smintz, his eyes bulging above his surgical mask. She was laying back on the exam table, her business spread wide. The Doctor stood at the far end, gazing at her groin with reverence and contained terror.

“Have you ever agitated an epileptic?”

“What do you see down there, Doctor? What have you got?”

Dr. Smintz, concerned, just stared, his eyes never moving from Gina's pelvis al fresco. “Do you enjoy violent ballet?”

This was Gina’s first appointment with Dr. Smintz, who came very highly recommended. Her friends had told her he was “the best,” and even though his office was above an Arby’s she was overdue for a checkup.

“Have you ever abused any black-market vibration device? Ever drop acid on a mechanical bull?”

Smintz pulled a fresh pair of latex gloves over his original pair of latex gloves. He had yet to touch anything. The doctor was chubby and smooth. And he was puzzled.

“Tell me, Gina: Do you enjoy the films of Ridley Scott?”

“Is my vagina wrong?” Gina heard her voice quaver. Then, “Is she being blind again?”

Dr. Smintz sniffed, sincere. “Have you ever engaged in self-gratification during the shifting of tectonic plates?”

“What is it? What do you see down there? What is my vagina saying about me?”

“Miss Renta- a good physician does not rush to diagnose.” Smintz squinted, his nose itching. “This is a process of hit and miss. I hit, and then I miss. Then I hit again, and again- until something sticks. Most likely you have nothing to worry about. Now let me ask you a frank sexual question: how many of your former lovers have all of their original fingers?”

Gina was counting thumbs in her head when Dr. Smintz picked up his inter-office phone and punched two buttons. “Nurse Combs- please prep my inter-vaginal travel kit and cancel my appointments for the rest of the afternoon.”

Gina, nervous, sat up: “Dr. Smintz… are you telling me that you have to go… inside?”

Dr. Smintz lowered the phone to his chest and exhaled, heavy. “All the way inside.”

Gina’s vagina smiled, interrupting: “Can we get some Arby’s first?”