Seraphim's Journal of Muses

I am going to gripe about gynaecologists. If I spelt that wrong, I don't care. I have had the 'permanently need to pee' feeling for almost an hour now.
Now, I am not one of those women that goes 'eww, gynae appointment, oh my GODS its AWFUL'.... I accepted many years ago that gynaecologists have a job to do, and having to visit them is just part of the one thing in life that is both a blessing and an utter curse: being female.
Back in England, I always had a small indian woman poking at my nether regions. She was very nice, despite the fact I couldn't understand a word she said, and had nice warm, small hands.
But that was back in England... this morning, I got to meet Dr. Nestoras, my Cypriot Gynaecologist and Obstetrician. Not that I need an Obstetrician right now. Anywho. Sat behind his desk, he looked ok. Smiled politely, introduced himself, actually managed to turn off his phone. I was impressed - separating a Cypriot man from their phone is like trying to separate a normal guy from his manhood. It aint gonna happen.
It was only when he stood up, that I noticed his simply ENORMOUS hands. For a small guy, he had a shovel on the end of each arm. I smiled weakly, and shuffled off behind my curtain to do my obligatory undressing. (Note to self: next time, wear sweat pants, not tightest jeans.) When I came out, he motioned to the uncomfortable little bed, and said.... "Lets have a little look shall we..." and winked. He winked. For some reason, that creeped me out. Plus the fact he hadn't stopped manically smiling since I got in there was already making me edgy.
He was very professional and nice, but really...... they should have a regulation hand size for these people. (And hand temperature.... geeze, for one of the hottest countries in the world you would have thought his hands would have at least been warmer than say.... my ice-box.) Anyway, needless to say, I am not looking forward to my next appointment with much glee. But then, who does?