����So this morning at my local hospital we shot Mammogram II--Return of the Boob Crushing Machine. The technician said the earliest I will have a result is July 4, it could be as late as the following week.

����Fine. Leave me twisting in the wind. I can handle it.

����Now where did I stash that emergency back up tub of Heavenly Hash ice cream?

����The technician had Mammogram I--The Original Attack of the Boob Crushing Machine up on the light board so she'd know where to shoot the enlargement of the lumpazoid the radiologist wants. I got her to show me the "irregularity" as she termed it.

����She said she shouldn't be doing that and could get in trouble for it, but she could see how much it mattered, so ...

����It's about the size of a small pea and located at the bottom of my right chestal area, almost in the middle. To my untrained eye, my chestal area is full of odd little bits, and it just amazes me that the radiologist was able to pick it out. I did another self exam where the mammogram shows the lumpazoid and I can't feel anything.

����Yep, proof yet again that I'm not a princess. Not only would I not feel a pea under 20 mattresses, heck, I can't even find one in my chestal area and we aren't talking a particularly large area here, folks.

����Oh, and as if having any illusions about possible royal blood crushed wasn't enough disillusionment for one day, I also got confirmation that my fashion sense continues to be as impaired as ever.

����See, it's no secret that many French Canadian women are very chic, very concerned with matters of fashion, hair and make-up. Because our area here is about half French speaking and half English speaking, the little hospital where I go has bilingual staff--they speak both languages.

����When you stroll up to a desk, the staff makes a snap judgement about you and chooses a language to address you in.

����To cheer myself up a bit this morning, I wore a new, green light cotton summery sweater I just bought in Montreal, some new jeans, even went to the trouble of fussing with my hair AND *gasp* applying some mascara.

����Oooooh, baby, it was hootchie momma day chez Marn, eh.

����I was feeling pretty stylin' when I sauntered up to the radiology desk. The receptionist gave me the once over and ...

����Spoke to me in English.

����*Siiiiiiiiiggggggghhhhhhhhh*.

����Back to the drawing board.