The D Sisters get their portraits done.

I rarely take a lunch break at work, but I had to take one yesterday to get a mammogram that I'd scheduled a few months ago (back when I used to get Tuesdays off).

Since I was a mammogram virgin, and I'd heard horror stories, I practiced for the previous week by slamming my boobs in the freezer door and lining them up in a bench vice. As I left work commenting that I really had no idea how long I'd be gone, one of the girls told me about her mother having to take the rest of the afternoon off work and go home to bed after her last one. I was prepared for the worst.

Honestly people. What's the hype?

I flopped the D Sisters up on the table, the top lowered, the camera clicked and it was over.

"That's it?" I asked, when she said I could get dressed again. Seriously, I was disappointed at the lack of pain and torture after all my preparation. I can honestly say that I've had more discomfort wearing an ill-fitting bra. I even had a blog half written in my head about how horrible it was but I can't in good conscience publish it, cuz I wouldn't feel right about scaring someone out of going to get one done.

The mammogramist (or whatever her title is) made me wait in the room while she looked at all the images.

"They're all very clear, you may go."

And I was back at work 40 minutes later.

This morning I was awakened with a phone call: Apparently the D Sisters portraits turned out lovely. However they have been recalled for further investigation.

So while the procedure was easy to deal with, the morning after call ... not so much.

Now, I like the girls, but I've always heard that more than a handful is a waste. Since I've arrived in my 40's I realize the word is no longer "waste" but in fact "waist." So if they start to cause me grief I'll cut 'em off quicker than you can say silicone replacements.

...and I'm headed off for retakes tomorrow.

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