One of the guys

I feel really fortunate in the diverse group of people who have chosen to be in my life.  Sometimes, they come and go, but sometimes they stick around.  One thing I've learned from this is what it's like to be the token female in a group of male friends.  This tends to go one of two ways (for the most part):
1. I am one of the guys.  I scream at the goaltender when he lets the puck past his glove in overtime.  I show my battlescars gotten from mishaps changing motorcycle sparkplugs or in one case, an unfortunate incident involving a peanut butter sandwich and a George Foreman grill.  In this scenario, I do not bring up Jane Austen, the Indigo Girls, or anything else that emphasizes my second X-chromosome.

2. I am the oracle into the deep, dark mysteries of womanhood.  Because I have little shame left and will answer candidly, I have been asked everything from "so, what exactly is a hope chest, anyway?" to what seems to be the burning question on the mind of every guy I know lately, which is, "do women have to suffer through anything like the indignity of a prostate check?"

Seriously, guys?  You do know where babies come from, yes? 

Maybe it's because I had that conversation three times in the past week, but the last guy (who really is one of my favorite people to ever have lived), got a little extra information for his trouble when he asked.  I explained to him in the gentlest terms possible that no, men are not alone in their suffering, but then informed him that there is at least one thing that no man will ever truly be able to grasp the full scope and horror of.  I leaned in close across the table where we were sitting and lowered my voice.  We were in public, after all.  My friend, who is by no means sheltered or virginal, braced his hands on the table and sat in wide-eyed preparation for the shock of his life. 

I'll admit to letting him stew an extra couple of seconds before I took a deep breath, took one last look around for eavesdroppers, and said, "Okay, so you're not going to believe this... but some GYN's, at least the ones I've been to, and you can ask any woman you know and they'll corroborate this... they actually... tape pictures on the ceiling right over the patient's head!  Do you know how mortifying it is to be there and staring right into the face of Brad Pitt!?"

He about fell out of his chair.