I am in the midst of Menopause. What I really mean to say is…
“I FEEL LIKE I COULD KILL A WOLVERINE WITH MY BARE HANDS AND EAT ITS BRAINS!”
Naturally I called Pharmacist.
“I AM GOING TO KILL A WOLVERINE WITH MY BARE HANDS IF YOU DON’T FIX THIS!”
He said okay and then he wet himself.
Long story short, I had to spit in tiny vials for an entire day and ship them off to The Texas Institute for the Study of Saliva and Wolverine Cravings.
Once they did whatever it is spit scientists do, Pharmacist called with the results which explained my propensity for wolverine hate crimes and was oddly similar to the note my 3rd grade teacher wrote on my report card:
You’re pretty much one testicle away from being a man.
“Hey girl! Come back here with me,” said Pharmacist when I arrived for our meeting.
“Back here” is a place surrounded by glass where he compounds stuff for people who like their pharmaceuticals pounded.
He handed me a mask like the one surgeons wear and I pranced my happy ass into the Back Here, glancing only briefly at all the little people who were standing on the lower level looking up at me with envy.
As I was scanning the room for the giant white tub labeled, “Medical Marijuana Sample Packs,” he showed me how he stuffs capsules. Riveting. Then he showed me how he measures. Also riveting.
Then out of NOWHERE he says to me, “Now what you’re gonna wanna do is take this much of that stuff in that tube and apply it directly to your vulva.”
MY WHICH NOW?
Just as I was searching for a fire alarm to pull, the phone rang. It was the aforementioned Texas Institute. Pharmacist was super excited.
“Yes! Oh yes! This is great timing because she’s right here. So which do you think we should use? OK. Well we’re going to be applying it directly to the clitoral area. Yes. Right on the clitoral area. I was just explaining how we should be sure it’s on her vulva.”
Thank you Jesus for the mask because I turned into a 11 year old boy. I was doing a poor job of stifling wild, nervous laughter.
This man was tossing around funny no-no words AND he had made it sound as though this whole deal was about to go down right there in the pharmacy since WE were going to apply it to my lady business.
Just the two of us. In the glass room. Compounding and what not.
Thank you North Carolina public education system. I know how to make biscuits and sneak Moonshine into any social situation, but my Pharmacist had to teach me that my Hoo-Ha has a bunch of fancy lady aliases.
Truly I don’t remember what happened next. I think I had a seizure or something. All I know is that I have $150 worth of tubes and pills that are guaranteed to turn me back into a girl again. The directions say I’ll know it’s working when I can watch a rom-com without vomiting on the coffee table.
Or when I stop ripping the guts out of wolverines. Whichever comes first.
(This post was first published in 2009.)