Desert Magnolia

Someone teased me about it, so I just want to clarify. When I went to pack for this last trip I did NOT use Ziplocs for my clothes or shoes, after all. The effort seemed...ludicrous and like overkill when I seriously thought about it. I did roll my clothes up, though. And that worked fabulously. I only had to iron once, and it was really a touchup that was prompted by pre-media meeting nerves. I probably could have worn that blouse a little wrinkly and nobody would have noticed because they were focusing on my energy and what was coming out of my mouth and the essence of our meeting, right? Which is why I decided to touch that baby up. So, Ziplocs 0, Ironing 1. That I can live with. Can you? :-)

My gynecologist is a man. An over 50 man. He's a very good doc. He's been caring for me and my parts for 23 years now, and given that everything still functions as it should, I'd have to say he knows his stuff. He humors me, puts me at ease with petty concerns over aging, and generally keeps me on an even keel with regard to all things gynecological. The one thing he doesn't get, and won't ever get, is being a woman. He's got the science and medical part down cold. He can identify/treat/resolve any fertility or gynecological issue that might arise. And they do arise from time to time. He can throw procedures and medication around like nobody's business. But when you tell him, 'Dr. F., I'm just feeling odd.  There's nothing amiss, medically. My life isn't in turmoil, I'm just feeling odd. Kind of emotional, you know?' This will elicit from him a knowing frown, he'll rub his chin, look in my eyes (no doubt ensuring bo...