Disclaimer: To my readers... this blog may contain subject matter that could offend you.
Please read at your own risk.
To the rest: Never under-estimate the power of association... sights and sounds can conjure up memories and emotions beyond your wildest comprehension.
Case in point - the story I am about to share with you... the story of The Pap and The Cat.
A few weeks ago, my husband and I were enjoying a cup of coffee while reading the Sunday newspaper. He chuckled softly and then thrust the comic section of the paper at me, saying "Read Garfield."
I HATE THAT CAT! ... and here is why....
When I was a young girl, blossoming into the woman I am today - I started the annual ritual of visiting the doctor for a barbaric procedure known as "the pap smear" exam, often and fondly referred to as the "annual pap" or simply a "pap" exam. Whatever you want to call it - it is not a pleasant experience. Period.
I suppose the first time for everything always seems to have the most impact on a person. For me, that was certainly the case. My mom scheduled my appointment for me at the women's clinic.
I shudder just at the thought of it. Women's Clinic. Women's. Clinic. Deep breath. Continue.
The doctor who did my first exam was kind enough. She was thoughtful and careful - explaining each and every awful step of the procedure to me. But, I didn't hear a word she said. Not a word. Zip. What I was focused on was hanging above my head, on the ceiling, secured by 4 tacks - three red, one blue. It was a poster. A "Garfield" poster, to be exact. As I was held hostage with both feet in stirrups, I locked eyes with Garfield, the cat. He was sitting, with a bowl of pasta over his head, looking most disgusted. The bubble caption on the poster read: "I hate Mondays!" and as I lay there, strapped in, I thought to myself - "I hate Garfield."
Each year I would return to that exam room. Each year, that damn cat was waiting for me. In time, the corners of the poster yellowed a bit and the paper started to sag in the middle - but it still hung there, just the same. Now, I am sure that Jim Davis - the creator - is a fine man. I am sure that he never meant to cause me any harm or traumatic association fueled flashbacks with his lasagna-loving cat. But thanks to the women's clinic, the damage has been done. I wonder how many other women hate Garfield? I bet there is a silent community of us out there; a support group in the making.
Upon telling this story, I am quite confident that my husband will never share another Garfield comic with me again and for that, I am most thankful. A happy ending.
So there you have it, boys and girls, that is the story of "The Pap and The Cat."
The end.
Wanderlust wishes,
Joni
Well written. I hate Garfield too but more because the comic is predictable and often . . . LAME! That said, your entry reminded me of my visits to the dentist. There is usually some serene beach image or small tropical island with a couple of palm trees to set your mind in a different place. I've learned over the years AND from watching Brazil, that one can often redirect one's attention and learn to relax in the dentist chair. Fortunately, the pain endured in the dentist chair is mostly of a physical nature, not of the personal, emotional type to which you allude here.
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