Tight Spaces

“You’re always asking me questions and more questions. I want to ask questions.”

“So ask,” I offered.

Mama went right for the jugular: “Have you found any jobs yet?”

I mentioned a few opportunities and she asked what they’d pay When I told her, she sneered, “that’s not enough,” with an assurance that belies her thirty-year absence from the workforce.

“Actually, it’s more than I was making at Equity,” I explained, “except that I wouldn’t get health insurance.”

And that did it. Off we went into the boxing ring.

“You’re insane, Alex. Health insurance is extremely important and you need to make the decisions that will lead you to health insurance because what if you get sick?”

“There are plenty of free health clinics in New York,” And so she was tame for a moment. “There’s even one for gay and lesbian people,” I added.

“It shouldn’t matter that it’s a gay place or not when it comes to health,” mama punched.

“Well, some gay people are more comfortable talking to a practitioner who will ask the right kinds of questions without judgment.”

“But it shouldn’t matter”

“But some doctors are judgmental. They don’t want to talk about, I dunno, anal stuff.”

“That’s not true because my doctor told me to get a colonoscopy—he had no problem talking to me about it.”

“No, I mean, some doctors you tell them about your sex life, that you think you need to get tested for something, and they judge you instead of helping you.”

“Well, what’s wrong is wrong—if you do something dangerous with your ass, that’s YOUR problem.”

“Is your gynecologist male or female?”

“He’s a man, but I don’t care.”

“Some women do.”

“I don’t care. There’s always another person in the room as a witness. Oh, and last time I went he said I wasn’t stretched out at all, that my parts were as tight and snug as they must have been when I was a young woman.”

Mama is seventy years old. Her gynecologist says she has a tight pussy. The end.