In this post, as she is often wont to do, Miss Ginger will talk about a subject many people find disagreeable: assholes!
No, not this kind of asshole:
Nor this:
or even this:
No, dear GingerSnaps, Miss G is going to talk about this kind of asshole:
That's right, folks... the old poop chute... the starfish.... the rosebud...
We all have one, and we all use it for pretty much the same functions. A few clever GingerSnaps out there may have discovered that it's also useful for another function, and Miss Ginger commends those folks for their discovery. This post however, shall focus on the primary function- the elimination of solid waste from the human body. (I'm sure many of you have just breathed a sigh of relief, and the others among you just wrinkled your noses and made that "I just smelled a fart" face!) Bear with me, here!
The asshole that we so take for granted is really just the service exit for what is a pretty remarkable system that god has created to fuel the human machine. Most of us focus on the beautiful entry door:
the tummy (especially when it gets rumbly!)
and even the nether regions, when they become thunderous:
The much maligned and forgotten asshole, as part of a pretty remarkable digestive team, functions along with his partner, the rectum, to lock down a hermetic seal on the whole smelly mess, much to the joy and pleasure of all humankind!
Queen Ginger first learned her healthy respect for the "lower digestive team" when Poppa G lost his to cancer. His colon cancer led to the dreaded "colostomy", and let me tell you, friends, nothing will make you love your asshole like watching someone you love lose theirs! That's when the Queen learned first hand just what a smelly, caustic mess that thing shields us from, and began her lifelong fate of frequent colonoscopies to ensure hers doesn't meet the same demise.
It was at her last colonoscopy that the doctor confirmed what Miss G already knew- "you colon looks great... all I see is a few little hemmorhoids near the rectal opening." To add insult to injury, she added "they're probably too small to do anything about."
Too small? If hemorrhoids feel like someone drove a Cadillac up your ass (truly, they do!) then here's what just pulled into Queen G's royal palais:
They became so bad that Queen G finally had to go see "Doctor Downplay", who is completely unalarmed by any symptom Queen G presents, except her weight. Apparently, big girls scare him! It went something like this:
QG: I'm miserable. It hurts like hell all the time, and throbs so much at night that it wakes me up.
DD: You know you got them because you are a big fat pig.
QG: I know! But I've tried everything- creams, suppositories, gels, ointments, voodoo...
DD: If you weren't such a big fat pig they would probably go away on their own.
QG: I get it. But if I can't move from the pain, there's not much chance of me losing weight any time soon.
DD: Well, I understand that. But if you don't lose some weight, you're going to die of a heart attack, so hemorrhoids will be the least of your worries.
QG: You're an asshole. Fix mine!
So, after a few questions, he decides he needs to see this for himself. One would have thought all hemorrhoids look pretty much the same, but apparently not. More lovely conversation:
DD: So I see one here on the outside. Does it itch?
QG: A bit. But that's the least of my issues. It's the ones inside that hurt.
DD: What does it feel like?
QG: Like someone broke a Coke bottle in my ass. A hot Coke bottle that been on a sunny beach all day. Covered with sand.
DD (with a sinister snap of a rubber glove): I'm going to need to feel the ones inside.
QG: Uh, that's not going to work.
DD: What do you mean?
QG: I will scream bloody murder if you try to do that to me right now.
DD: Put your face in the pillow and bear down like you're trying to poop.
QG: GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
DD: Wow! That IS big.
QG: Call me tomorrow?
After very brief discussion, it was determined that Queen G will see a surgeon:
DD: Do they hurt badly enough to do something about it.
QG: I called you, didn't I?
DD: True. But the only options are surgical, and they are very painful.
QG: At least that pain will be finite. If I have to live with this much longer I will jump off a bridge. Or kill someone.
DD: I'm typing the referral.
SO, Queen G has been googling the various and sundry procedures from which the surgeon will choose. Will she get:
Rubber Bands?
Staples?
A laser?
Or just good, old-fashioned knives?
Stay tuned, dear GingerSnaps, for the next episode of "As the Ass Burns"!
PS: Is ANYONE still reading?
He's quite glad to have a job, however! Many in the industry are not faring as feel, as Sears Holdings announced today they will close 100-120 Sears and Kmart stores next year. While Queen Ginger NEVER shopped at Kmart (I don't even think we have them in Texas anymore), she does have many fond memories of going to Sears with Momma or Poppa G, to pick up a gadget or 2 for the kitchen or workshop. Whenever choosing appliances as a gift for Momma G, Poppa always looked for the "Sears Best" or "Lady Kenmore" label to ensure he was getting the top of the line! And Boy G still has a couple of Daddy's old Craftsman tools out in the garage. Growing up in a small Louisiana town back in the 60's, Sears was one of the few places we had to shop; Wallymart didn't take over the scene until the late 70's. And long before Amazon.com, if you couldn't find something you needed locally, your Momma ordered it from the Sear catalog! It seems so archaic now, to think you had to go to the store to place the order, wait weeks for it to come, and then go back to pick it up! Now, we click tonight and it's at our front door tomorrow!
