I just heard that it is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month and that today ,October 2nd, is National Dress Down Day... in other words you can wear your jeans to work today in support of breast cancer. Timing couldn't be better!

I started early. At 30 my Ob/gyn suggested I have my first mammogram. Dense and fibrous breasts require earlier and more routine screenings. So I was a good patient and did as I was told. And have been ever since. So yesterday was my lucky day. And I needed my boyfriend jeans. Because they are the only ones that are a little large. And well, to put it bluntly, all my other jeans give me a bit of a muffin top. Ok, a lot. The joys of carrying three children and stretching out like a whale and back 3 times. And perhaps from too many m&ms. And pumpkin spice lattes. And Gimlets too. But I'll just blame it on the three kids. It's easier that way.

So I remembered that my boyfriend jeans were in the hamper. So after I took the kids to school I quickly tossed 'em into the wash. And while they were washing I made some applesauce for a recipe. And I read some blogs and made some coffee and a few necessary phone calls. Then it was time to go. So I grabbed my jeans out of the dryer. They were nice and hot. Ahhhhh. And then as soon as the heat wore off I realized that they were still wet. Eww. Oh so uncomfortable. But I was going to wear them. Despite being cold and clammy and sticky. And wet. Because they looked good. And because I was not going to be topless with my post babies muffin top. No way no how. Too late for the sit ups. Too late for a colonic. (Ewwwww!) And Spanx were out of the question too. So, I would wear jeans that look good on me. Jeans that would make my waist look fit and trim. Jeans that were ridiculously uncomfortable.

So I hopped into the car and decided to turn on the seat warmers. My seat warmers rock. But I don't have my car. Mine is in the shop. It's getting some dings repainted and an oil change. So I have a loaner. A brand-spanking-new-leather-smelling-plastic-coated Lexus Rx. Naturally I was terrified to drive it out of the dealership. Naturally I was terrified to let my grubby little-dirt-ridden kids in it. And it's way too technologically advanced. It turns on without a key. And the entire navigation system, the entire everything is operated with a mouse that is located in the console to the right. It's cool. Way cool. And fun to play with. But the whole thing about the keyless entry and engine starting is unnerving. And driving a spanking new car that is not mine is unnerving. I want my car back. But I didn't have it today. But I had wheels and the wheels needed to get me to Greenwich to my mammogram. The wheels needed to get me and my wet sticky ass to Greenwich. But that's what seat warmers are for, right?

So I blasted on the seat warmers. Only to realize that I hadn't turned the dial. Instead of hot air warming me to the core, I had cold air blasting through the perforated seats freezing both my derriere and my vajayjay off. Cold wet ass. Not good. Not fun. I found the dial and turned it as high as I could hoping that I would soon feel my lower half again. Hoping that the heat would aid in the drying off of my wet and now frozen pants. But the seat warmer in this car sucks. Sucks. I have had many cars with seat warmers and on the seat warmer alone I would never buy this car. So then I turned the heat up in the car. Way up. It was miserably hot in there. But my ass was not drying. And at that point I was wondering what the hell I was actually thinking leaving the house in wet jeans because they looked good. Ohmygod, how shallow have I really become?

I eventually reached my destination, pulled in to the parking lot and got out of the car. My oh so brilliant idea of drying my jeans in the car was not oh so good at all. In fact it was oh so terrible. I stepped out of the car in to the howling wind and 55 degree temps and felt the cold, clammy denim weigh me down like an anchor. Like the Titanic anchor -- cold and wet! Ugh.

And of course it's 55 degrees out so the building has to be air conditioned, right? Because anytime you need to strip down and be half naked you need the air to resemble that of a meat locker, right?

I took my seat in the waiting room. Me and my cold, wet jeans. And truth be told, of course my underwear was wet too. I mean, really, how did you expect it to stay dry? And in the cold, Arctic waiting room I sat in my cold, wet jeans. With nothing to read. Not a goddamn magazine. No InStyle. No Vogue. No Vanity Fair. No People or Us or Star. No Newsweek or Time. No Family Circle or Women's Day. No nothin'. Nothing to do but think. And nothing to think about but how miserable I was in my cold, wet jeans.

Then they called my name. I was really looking forward to that. I was really looking forward to stripping out of my jacket and shirt and bra. And not my cold, wet jeans. I took off my few layers and stepped into a lovely hospital gown and proceeded to go into an even colder X-ray room. I was so cold I was in agony just thinking about the icy metal apparatus I would be clinging to. In my cold wet jeans. All this because I didn't want to reveal my excess belly skin. To an X-ray technician. Who has probably seen women 3 and 4 times my size. I am a fool, really. A really cold fool!

I walked over to the mammogram machine and the technician took my Tata and placed it on the cold metal. Only it was not cold. Not at all! It was warm! She'd been keeping it warm with a heating pad! I wanted to yell "Give me that heating pad! I want it! I want to stick it down my pants!" But I didn't.

Suddenly I was all take my boobs and splay them over this lovely warm metal apparatus. Until she did. The left one. Stretching it out like a big ball of dough, flattening it out until it can't get any flatter and suddenly I'm not looking at my boob, but a goddamned pizza pie for crying out loud! What has she done to me? Look, after nursing 3 children they're not what they used to be. This, I was certain, was not helping me any. So there I was with my pizza pie of a boob flattened out by the Big Boobie Rolling Pin and she's telling me not to move. Not to move? Where the hell do you think I can move to? I've been stretched out like Stretch Arm Strong. One sudden move I'll ricochet out the window and land on the Post Road for crying out loud! And then I was instructed not to breathe. Well that's good because I couldn't. Breathe that is. My left breast (which is not small normally) was stretched wafer cookie thin. To think I could actually breathe? Because I couldn't. So holding my breath was a piece of cake. Sheesh. And then the picture was taken. And the vice released. And I could breathe. Until the technician pulled it and flattened it some more like a piece of Play Doh. And this almost made me forget about my cold wet jeans. I said almost. I didn't say it did!

And just like that we were done. And the hurt was gone. And I seriously don't remember it ever hurting like that. I'm not really a baby. Not any more. I've had children and that has automatically lifted me up to the Heroically Brave category. I've experienced an epidural. I've experienced labor pain. I've experienced labor pain both with and without pitocin. I have experienced labor pain unmedicated with and without pictocin. I have experienced childbirth. I have experienced childbirth unmedicated. So I know what pain is.

Ok, so maybe I was being a bit of a baby. This felt nothing like labor and nothing like childbirth. Not even close. I just felt like complaining because sometimes I like to complain, and whine...

So if I could compare it to something, anything at all, I would say it's about as uncomfortable as getting your teeth X-rayed. Those film strips they place in your mouth are uncomfortable but they do not really cause major pain. So that's my comparison. And my whine. And my lovely mammogram experience.

I am sure you all would be happy knowing that at some point during the day my jeans actually did dry!

And I am sure you all will be happy knowing that my X-rays came out just fine!