My Life as the Ugly Stepsister Read Online Free PDF

develop a fear of it. Some of my friends never go, and that’s not healthy.”
    Now the clean panties thing made sense. “But I’m fine. Advil works for my cramps.” Four of them, but still they did work. “I’m not going.”
    “What if you get a yeast infection while I’m gone?”
    Eewww! “I’ll use the cream they show on television. I’ll stop eating sugar. I won’t get a yeast infection.”
    Mom shrugged. “Go with me now or go with Diane next week. It’s your call.”
    “You’re never coming back from Seattle, are you? You just want to do one last thing before you abandon me.”
    Mom rolled her eyes. “I’m not abandoning you. You know better than to think so.”
    I did know, in a way. Mom really liked being a mother.
    A half hour later, I was shivering in a paper gown with an equally useless paper blanket pulled over me. Why were they blasting air conditioning in a place where they made you strip naked? I was starting to regret making my mother stay in the waiting room. The whole thing was gross and embarrassing and the longer I waited the more I agonized. I didn’t even want to look at what was “down there” and no way did I want someone else staring between my legs.
    Mom had tried to break the tension by telling me a story about one of her friends whose doctor thought she was flirting because she accidentally covered her… self… in glitter. Something about her kids and not realizing they had used the washcloth for the mess they’d made. “So don’t you worry,” Mom had said. “These doctors have seen it all.”
    Well, they hadn’t seen me, and I was happy with the status quo. I squeezed my legs together. Very happy.
    Finally, the doctor knocked. She introduced herself and shook my hand. I didn’t want to think about where her hand had been.
    She was younger than my mom, with short blonde hair, a white coat, and a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring. She seemed nice enough. “Are you having any problems at all?”
    “No.”
    She asked when my last period was, and whether I did self-breast exams.
    “Um,” I said. I’m not a very good liar.
    “You should do them every month.”
    “Okay.”
    “First, I’ll check your breasts. I’ll call in my nurse, and then, after that I’ll have you put your feet up in the stirrups for the pap smear.”
    Stirrups?
    The nurse came in, and Dr. Peeden had me lay back and raise one arm above my head. She pulled the paper gown aside and began very scientifically rubbing my breast. Then she did the other one. I pretended it wasn’t happening. Apparently, she didn’t find anything wrong. But I’d seen my breasts. The parts at the other end of the table were the ones I hadn’t examined closely. Who knew what horrible secrets they held?
    The stirrups were even worse than they sounded. I had to scoot my naked butt down to the edge of the table and put my feet in the metal things so that my legs were spread wide. I felt ridiculous, and the warm lamp she had shining on me did not help. The sun was not supposed to shine down there.
    Why stirrups? Was the first gynecologist some kind of sick cowboy? I mean really!
    Obviously they kept you spread open for the doctor to access you, but still…
    “This is the speculum,” the doctor was saying. Apparently she hadn’t seen any shocking deformities with her bright light so far. “I’ll slide this in to keep you open for the pap test. Then, I’ll use a cotton swab to get some cells from your cervix. It won’t hurt,” she assured me.
    I tensed, like any reasonable person.
    “You’ll have to relax,” she prompted. “Just lay back and think about something else. It will make it easier.”
    Somehow, I managed to relax a little. She slid the thingy in and then did the thing with the swab. I was really picking up the technical lingo.
    “You’re doing great,” she said.
    She released the speculum thing and took it to the sink. “Next is the bimanual exam. I’ll place two fingers inside your