A thought: funny, isn't it, how the people who are all "men and women evolved differently, so men have to cheat, and women just fucking love gathering pink berries", never seem to argue that "but men and women evolved to have hair under their armpits, to trap pheromones and aid sexual attraction, and you can't fight nature". Oh no, when it comes to body hair, suddenly civilisation and conscious thought are king again.
In other news, on a trip to the GUM clinic t'other day, the very nice doctor kept translating everything I said into the simplest terms possible. I'd be all "blah blah blah labia" and she'd say, "blah blah blah the lips on either side of your vagina". I'd refer to my cervix, and she'd say, "lalala the cervix, which is the opening to your womb". DUDE. I know what a cervix is. I have one. I just used the word. Do I look so dim that you have to define everything I say in case I think my cervix is actually the opening to my defective brain?
The guy who did the actual examination was allegedly more senior to her, but hadn't really got his bedside manner down - I jump whenever someone touches me and I'm not expecting it (like, including my boyfriend, when we're hugging on his sofa: if I don't see the hand coming, my response is usually "wooARGH!"), so sticking a lolly stick up my shame cave and then saying "we are now going to insert the speculum..." is pretty much guaranteed to freak me out. I'm not particularly self-conscious about getting naked in front of strangers - after a couple of years of practically biweekly ECGs, I'll whip my tits out in front of any medical professional who asks - but after this particular investigation session I was so flustered that I put my knickers back on inside out. Which would have been fine, had I not been wearing a sanitary towel. The walk back home was... sticky.