As some of you may know, my good sister moved to London last year. Aside from the British being a tad reserved for my sister's bawdy tastes, she's mostly liking it quite a bit. Sue is a health-conscious girl and recently noted that it was time for her yearly gyno exam, so she decided to test out the medical system.
"They send you behind a curtain to get undressed, but there's no paper robe or gown or anything!" she yelped at me over the phone today. "I pulled my t-shirt down over my cooter and came out." The doctor motioned her onto the table.
"But there aren't any stirrups," she pointed out to the doctor, wondering if the good doc realized she was here for a pelvic exam. The doctor patiently explained that Sue should lie on her back, make a fist, and put it under her bottom in order to obtain the proper angle!
Lady doctor did not appreciate one bit Sue's admonishment that in civilized places like New York City, our gyno tables come equipped with stirrups so the patient doesn't have to work so hard during what is a fairly unpleasant scenario anyway. "And then the doctor mushed her big boobs up against my knees and dug in," she yelped again. "I kept wondering if people were filming it!"
I guess that's what socialized medicine gets you—little in the way of stirrups, no disposable exam-wear, but loads of hot boobie action.