*****Sorry, men, but I'm talking about baby-makers again today. Specifically, my baby-maker. You may want to check back in tomorrow. Or, you know, the next time I get around to writing.*****
When I went in for my procedure Thursday, I took my book of cake pictures with me. I don't normally take it with me when I'm going to be showing my who-ha to God-only-knows how many people, but the nurse who checked me in on Tuesday (henceforth referred to as "Nurse #1") was quite friendly. We took some rabbit trails while she was getting my medical history, and somehow ended up on the subject of cakes. She knew the OB whose baby shower cake I'd made, but hadn't seen it, so I wanted to show it to her.
So, back to Thursday. No, wait, let me back up again. A week or so after that baby shower, I got a call from a nurse (henceforth referred to as "Surgery Center Nurse") who attended the shower, asking me if I would be able to make a cake for her. Thing 1 and Thing 2 were being heathens while I was on the phone, and I was nursing Fatty McButterpants, so basically what I heard was: "I'm a nurse... surgery... baby shower... cake?"
I agreed and life goes on. For the last couple of weeks, I've been under the impression that she works at the surgery center in town, which may explain why I am referring to her as "Surgery Center Nurse." I called her the night before my procedure to clarify a few things, and we both got excited about the unfathomable cuteness that will be her cake.
Now, back to Thursday. Again. I'm lying there on the little wheelie-hospital-bed-thingie, about to be taken to the OR, and the nurse (Nurse #3) asks, "Should I call you the cake lady?" She is quite smiley and perky and friendly and perfectly made-up, which is completely unfair, considering I'm lying there with no make-up on and about to flash everyone around me. I thought she was talking about the cake book, which Nurse #1 had taken to show her colleagues. Nurse #3 clarified that Surgery Center Nurse, who would be assisting my doctor in the OR that day, was getting me to make a cake for her. Oh. Heavenly. Father. You have got to be kidding me.
Do you mean to tell me that I am going to make a cake for someone who will be up close and personal with my nether regions??? Why, yes. Yes, I do.
That was literally the worst news I could have gotten at that point.
But then Doc trumped that by saying my uterus may be coming out next.
I believe the conversation with Hubs in the car on the way home went something like this:
Me: "OH SWEET JESUS! SHE SAW MY NETHER REGIONS AND I'M MAKING A CAKE FOR HER!"
Hubs: "I've seen your nether regions and I still eat your cakes."
Me: "I THINK I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK! I CAN'T MAKE A CAKE FOR SOMEONE WHO'S SEEN MY NETHER REGIONS!"
Hubs: "Your doctor has seen your nether regions and he ate your cake."
Me: "THERE IS NO FREAKING WAY I COULD EAT A CAKE MADE BY SOMEONE WHOSE NETHER REGIONS I SAW!"
Obviously I am quite professional, and, um, mature about it all.
Clearly a great day was had by everyone*.
*Except those of us whose nether regions were seen by everyone in the county.