This Is Not About Sardine Sandwiches

I must tell you, after being warned by the personnel not to wear deodorant, powder, cream or perfume today prior to the screening, my nerves were beginning to spark off that wonderful aphrodisiac scent (appreciated only in some parts of Africa, Asia, France and on 5 o'clock bus routes throughout the Island), which I fondly called Stinky Pits. But hey, it was 2:20 in the afternoon, and I was for the past hour, on a bit of an errand which involved some activity- Stinky Pits were about to kick in, fear contributing to this in some measure.

The three of us pulled into the car park- okay- here we are Old Girls- time for you to COMPLETELY lose whatever rotund form that your children left you with-.. you are now about to become conical (and comical no doubt) flaps of skin, with two horrible metal plates doing the most unnatural things to you. It's not enough that I have the Girls tucked away (upwardly) in a bra all day to hinder this very thing from happening, but to do it to them on purpose seemed all a bit surreal. Almost sadistic and quite frankly, unkind.

In we go, present that little pink slip to the Receptionist, who sweetly directs me to "that side" of the clinic. Wow- Barbie on acid- Pink and Purple in the most girlie-girl of ways. Lovely soft pink everything everywhere, nice cool fan, two lovely ladies in the waiting room, (one just came out and was not crying), the other was waiting like me. We chatted, each of us agreeing that no matter what was involved, the option of the unknown was not there. Safety in numbers-.