The First Grease and Oil Change

‘Seek ye the emotional penis. And KICK.’ My best mate, Jono, says. The curse of the writer is that we must be willing to kick ourselves in the dick by reliving some of the most embarrassing moments in our life for the sake of the story. The thought of recounting any embarrassing moment of mine makes my head hurt. Because naturally, one cannot help but think of all of them, and when I say all of them, what I mean is I have compilations that my mind releases annually of all the stupid things I have done (like a So-Fresh CD) and not once have I been able to avoid it. I thought my bout of embarrassment was a phase, like when I dressed all-black for the entirety of 2007 because The Veronicas were the shit setting a very fashionable trend with pink and black, and I genuinely believed that Antique was pronounced as anti-q. Not to mention all of the public places I have trusted a fart, or that time when my crop top slid up, and everyone at soccer training saw my boobs.

My first day of high school was going to be different.

A new start. I can reinvent myself as someone cool and leave it all behind me!

As soon as I left my dad's car, I slung my backpack over my shoulders, and the back of my dress hitched up for the entire journey to the front of my new school. Two boys behind me were laughing the whole way, and I didn’t realise what had happened until it was pointed out amongst my entire year group. During my first sex-ed class, I nearly fainted when I saw that underneath a comically large, plastic banana, was an erect penis - which made me think that every male was born with a gigantic banana penis. And then there was the application of a condom, or what I considered to be an oddly shaped purple balloon covered in slimy stuff. I ended up rolling the slippery bastard onto the banana dick inside out, and that same lesson, I was laughed at by the shitheads my classmates because there was a contraceptive pill also called Yasmine. So, I did not reinvent myself, rather, I failed miserably. The one constant in my life, besides being a fortunate, healthy person, is that I attract embarrassment. This was never more apparent than the event of my first pap smear.

I was sitting at the kitchen table with my mum and struggling to keep focus on whatever it was she was trying to tell me. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I was eighteen and had just had a horrible breakup with a guy who I was glad to not be with, and the whole relationship messed me up—“Bloody grease and oil change” declares my mum.

It was one of those moments where the tranquil house I was zoning into had the front door ripped off by my mum.

“…Are you alright?” I ask carefully.

My mum, bless her, received a reminder letter from the doctor about a pap smear, and after a great deal of confusion from my end, reminded me that it was not the car that needed service, rather her vagina.

“Oh”, was all I could manage to say.

This was the most conversation that my mum and I had about vaginas, and because I knew nothing about the maintenance, I had to ask more.

“So why do we need to have them?”

“Because they can detect cancer, STD’s, and other things. You have them after you’ve had sex. They stick this little device up there and then it’s out and it's done. Super quick.”

“Oh, okay. That would mean I would… Need to have one?”

I forgot if we had the conversation where I told her I had sex, or if we already did and she forgot. My mum looked horrified for the blink of a very long moment… I think we both forgot.

“Yes, you do. It’s alright, it’ll be good to be checked out. I’ll book ours in at the same time, save me having to go backwards and forwards.”

“Okay, cool.”

There is nothing more awkward than a joint appointment for a grease and oil change with your mother. That was until I saw a bright red walker part the automatic doors like the red sea.

“Hallo, love!” my Nana calls out.

I couldn’t believe it; this was not happening. Have I been set up? I look at my mum, she was laughing. My Nana sits down beside me and kisses me.

“Haven’t you been feeling well, Yassie?” she asked.

“No”, I gently explain, almost to a whisper. “I’m here to get a pap smear.”

“A PAP SMEAR!” my Nana projects. Everyone in the waiting room looks at us, including a young woman who I recognized as a girl who used to bully me at school. I’m sure people have died from this kind of stress.

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE HAVING SEX?” She shouts. Although, she wasn't really bothered about it. I think she was probably relieved that she didn’t have to have the talk with me. I ask her what she was at the doctors for, hoping the subject change will save whatever is left of my dignity. Again, she projects.

“MA PROLAPSE HAS FALLEN OUT AGAIN. I'M GETTING IT PUSHED BACK IN.”

I look to the automatic doors and imagine my dignity throwing two suitcases into the nearest taxi. At this point, my mum is already being seen to by the doctor, so I’m stuck here trying to figure out a reply to my Nana.

...

“Again?”

She nodded. “Bloody nuisance.”

“Yasmine?” the doctor calls, as my mum walks out.

My saviour. I run into the doctor’s office like Maria from The Sound of Music. Hoping to get this out of the way proficiently, and hastily, I informed my doctor via dot points:

- This is the first time I am having this procedure.

- I have been sexually active but not anymore.

- I have participated in safe sex but am no longer sexually active.

- I’m not taking any contraceptives because I’m no longer sexually attractive active.

There. Done.

She nods, obviously satisfied I hadn’t told her my entire Greek Tragedy.

“Alright. Just get changed behind the curtain and we’ll talk through the procedure." While I change, she gives me instructions.

“So, when you’re up on the table, if you could just lie on your back, fist your hands underneath your hips so you’re tilted up, and then open your legs.”

“Sure thing.”

I get up on the table and I’m already uncomfortable. So glad nothing flaps around. Christ, I don’t know how people with testicles go – or haemorrhoids for that matter. Decided not to ponder. I open up my legs and feel a rush of cold air; I am still undecided if it was coming in or out… The doctor hasn’t said anything, so I guess it was... Never mind. Fists. What did she tell me to do with my fists? Ah-HA! Underneath my hips. But are they on top of each other or side by side?

I place my fists on top of one another. Oh, this is really unbalanced. How do other women manage to do this with such ease? My triceps are killing me already.

“How are you going in there?”

“Just about sorted...” I manage to get out after nearly tipping over. I flex everything and push up. She opens the curtain and stands between my legs. Oh no, I forgot to shave. She doesn’t say anything. Good. I’d rather not talk about my vagina—

“So, I’m just going to place the vaginal speculum into your vagina.”

She quickly shows me the metallic duck's beak. Ha! Wait. THAT is going inside of me?! F*** being a woman. Why did I have sex? WHY?!

“I’m going to count to three. On three, I’ll insert. Okay?”

“Yesss.” I grimace.

Calm. Breathe. We’re counting down. It’s all going fine.

“One… Two.” She inserts the device on TWO.

I fall off of my fists and land halfway off the table. I thought the table was cold. But THIS.

WHYYYYYY!!!!!!!!!!!???????

SHE SAID SHE WOULD COUNT TO THREE?!

“While I’m here, I’m just going to test you for chlamydia.”

I lie there, like a folded starfish, as the doctor tests me for a disease that I do not have because I would have had to have sex which I specified I did not. Maybe I should have shaved? It must have looked bad if she’s decided to test me for an STD. I wonder if nuns have this problem too… Probably not.

“Okay. All done. I’ll let you get changed.”

If I had a cigarette, I probably would have lit it then and there. While I’m getting changed, I think about how I’m going to cope with this experience again. I mean, I’ve barely begun my life and this experience has nearly killed me. I part the curtain. The doctor is seated at her desk, completely unphased. She motions for me to sit in the chair across from her. Once I’m seated, she proceeds with the epilogue of the appointment.

“Alright, so I’ll send these off to be tested, so you should expect a letter in the mail within the week with the results. If any concerns come up, we’ll give you a call. Otherwise, there won’t be anything to worry about at all. Okay?”

“No worries. So... How regular do I get a pap smear?”

“Every five years, so you don’t have to have it yearly, but you can if you like.”

“Sweet. Thank you.”

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“No, that was pretty much it, thanks.”

She nods.

We both stand. Assuming this was the end of the conversation, I collect my things and head for the door.

...

“You look so much like your mother.”