My cervix is an asshole. I mean, not technically. It’s not, like, a cloaca or anything, even though it’s acting kind of shitty. It’s still a cervix. But it’s kind of being a dick. Again, not technically. It’s still a lady-part. What I mean is that, for the last 6 or 7 years, it’s taken its job as Guardian of the Galaxy waaaaaay too seriously – like, thin Chris Pratt seriously, even though we all know fat Chris Pratt is so much funnier (yes, my friends finally talked me into watching Parks and Rec and I’m part way through the second season so it’s virtually all I think about).

Gentlemen, you should probably look away now.

Ladies, does your cervix cooperate? Because mine is all, “You ain’t payin’ rent, so you ain’t comin’ in,” to my doctor when she tries to get a sample during a pap smear. She pokes and prods whispers sweet nothings into my vagina, but my cervix is closed for business. If it had a shoulder, it would give her a cold one. Then, when the doctor finally gives up, my body throws a dance party, but it clearly gets out of control and turns into a mosh pit which is all fun and games until someone pokes an eye out…if my cervix had eyes…or even just one eye…which it doesn’t…I’m pretty sure. Anyway, I’m sure the mosh pit is fun for my reproductive organs, but I interpret all that hurling itself around as painful cramping which is less fun. Also, I feel a little left out that I wasn’t invited to the party. I can rock a lampshade on my head with the best of them. But I guess you don’t really wear a lampshade in a mosh pit (etiquette and all), so maybe that’s why I wasn’t invited.

So, then I asked my doctor if my cervix had, like, super powers, and I no longer need birth control to avoid getting pregnant because it would stop sperm in their tracks, but she just looked at me condescendingly and patiently explained that sperm are microscopic, and my cervix isn’t magical. Then she also reminded me that when I go off of the pill, my endometriosis goes craycray and I get erythema nordosum, so I should really stay on it. But then I said that maybe my cervix was so magical that it caused the erythema nordosum just to give itself a break, which is genius and pretty much the best birth control ever because no man wants to be with a woman covered in boils. My cervix is smart, y’all. I suggested we make it a cape in case it also has the ability to fly. Then she noted something in my chart and left the room. I don’t know why.

So I dressed quickly and hightailed it out of there before she either ordered a psych consult or alerted the enemy about my superhero cervix.

P.S. Cross your fingers that the doctor got enough of a sample that I don’t have to go back again for another try and pay for it again.

P.P.S. I was going to draw you a little picture of my cervix wearing a cape, but then I Googled cervix images to work from, and now I need to go throw up. Or drink some bourbon.