Oh, For Cute

That saying always bothered me when I lived in the Midwest, because it does not make much sense grammatically. It is, however, entirely appropriate at times. For me, one of those moments occurred in the past few weeks.

On January 2nd, I went to see my family practitioner for my annual exam. Now, any woman that has had an annual physical can tell you that it is all about making one uncomfortable. There is talk of weight, menstrual cycles, birth control, and anything else the doctor deems necessary.

Perhaps one of the most uncomfortable moments for me always happens when it is time for the breast exam. The doctor always pushes too hard, and I am not much of a fan of sharing my breasts with anyone other than my husband of nearly twelve years. This is where things got a little concerning, though.

My doctor was concerned about bumps she found in nearly the same location on each breast. My faith in God and knowledge that eating a vegan diet nearly erases one's risk of developing cancer helped to assuage any personal worry. I scheduled a mammogram per her request and awaited the results. Once they arrived, saying that I have no abnormalities, I realized what my doctor was concerned about: my pectoral muscles from all the weight lifting I do.

Oh, for cute.