Want to know what I did about my excessive underarm sweating?

The entry has nothing to do with underarm sweating. That was the first ad I encountered while checking my email this morning and I thought, why would I want to read about excessive underarm sweating while having Sunday morning breakfast, which by the way was toast and half-water, half-Coke. I know, I am odd. But soda is a fat person type of beverage and I am trying to move away from being a fat person, but there was nothing else to drink. In any event, I also hate soda and only drink it diluted. Diet soda is remarkably too sweet for me as well. Plus my stomach is a bit queasy and Coke usually makes it feel better.

But now that we're done mentioning sweaty underarms and watery Coca Cola, I have more pressing issues to discuss. So I go to the doctor last week...

(digress)

I have been really busy. This job is one of those where I am busy all the time. I usually would use my lunch hour to read the paper, do a crossword, savour my culinary skills in peace. Now I find myself inhaling my efforts over a hot keyboard, with the phone propped against my ear. If the lunchroom were not so far away, I would totally stop doing this cause eating is supposed to be a treat - not an interruption. I realised on Wednesday that for the time I have been there, I had not ventured outside once during the day to just people watch or get some fresh air. I have gone outside for a meeting, and to hurriedly buy my cousin a present. So I locked the pc, and took the elevator down to street level and just sat in the sun, talking to Adonis, watching people walk by and taking a load off. I get to work early, leave late, get home totally exhausted and achey. I am not being paid enough to become this workbot! Not near enough...

(end digression)

...so yeah, I went to the doctor and it is this middle-aged guy from India. Very nice dude but he needs to either brush up on his English, get an earpiece, or immerse himself into the 21st century more often. There he is, scanning my file, comes upon my age, and during his feel-good time of poking around in my business, he asks how many kids I have. I tell him I have none.

Doctor: Hmmmm.

After I am dressed and sitting across from him, he starts on this whole rant about why at my age I don't have any kids and maybe something is wrong. So I explain to him that I am single, have chosen to not have casual sex for fear of disease and being some bitter baby-mama to some asshole, and that when I feel the time is right to have kids, I will. He does not hear any of this clearly. I mean, I really wanted to tell him this is not Mumbai where 13 year olds are being married to old men in arranged marriages and having kids at 15 or whatever. Maybe that works for them, but that's not me. I am not trying to have children at this time, cause I am not in a position to 1) conceive any - you need to be having sex to conceive and 2) I have a whole lot to do and get before I bring a child into this world.

But he was not hearing this. He was still in Mumbai, with the 13 yr olds while the 30-yr old in front of him unsuccessfully tried to explain the whole no-kids thing. The nurse, the Trini nurse, kept giving me the thumbs up and nodding and smiling in understanding, but not this asshole - who kept harping on the kids thing.

You know this farse man will find nothing else to tell me but he want to send me for a pelvic ultrasound to rule out infertility?? Wrote out the referral, signed and stamped it and everything. Gave it to the receptionist so she could make the appointment and rape my pocket of the $350 it costs to get it done. I smiled and told him thanks and as the girl asked me when I was available, I told her try her best and just leave that referral in the file until I am damn well ready. And ready would be when I am actually trying and need the reassurance that I can conceive. WTF!

It's hard enough, as a young, bright, beautiful, fat and sexy woman to find a man who is compatible and has all his white teeth as opposed to gold teeth, and who will love and respect me and complement me (and compliment as well...lol). Hard enough to have the maternal unit, the aunts - both the biological and non-biological aunts, and all other women with children on my back about it. I have to PAY to hear it too?

I mean...really!