The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear: The tale of a Fauci-ouchi

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The road to Covid-19 immunity is fraught with danger and excitement.

It was a dark, stormy night. I was safely ensconced in the basement of Chateau Pap Smear, listening to the windows rattling from the force of the frigid wind, desperately continuing my several-week-long search online for the availability of a Covid vaccination. Luckily, I had many experiences doing Internet searches for sequins, caftans, and wigs, so searching for “vaccine” was not a stretch for me. 

Sadly, I was disappointed at every turn; either being unqualified or absolutely non-vaccine availability. My God, it was worse than trying to score a personal cache of shimmering eye shadow during an Estee Lauder fall clearance sale. It’s not like I could make a simple and inexpensive substitute for the vaccine, such as substituting glitter and Gorilla Glue for glimmering eye shadow.

Fortuitously I happened to have the television on, broadcasting a news story probing a certain company in possession of a large quantity of public vaccination. I knew then that time was essential.

I hadn’t a moment to adjust my bra strap – which by the way – painfully pinched my breasticles regions.

Immediately, my glittery eyebrows furrowed as my freshly painted fingernails swiftly dribbling the computer keys alike snagging dollar bills off the stage of a drag show. 

I opened the website with trepidation, fearing I would not again qualify; yet, low-and-behold, they counted obesity as a pre-existing condition. Viola! I was in.

Who knew that being a substantially gravity-enhanced queen would ever work to my advantage?

I immediately registered for both myself and Mr. Pap Smear. Upon hitting the send key, a message popped up stating that I would shortly receive an e-mail telling me if I qualified and giving me a secret code with which I could schedule an appointment.  

At the crack of the following morning, I checked my e-mail. A positive reply had come to Mr. Pap Smear, but alas, there was not one for me. Damn it! Yet, looking on the bright side, one is better than none.

So, I booked his appointment, clear out in South Jordan. I had to shorten my usual daily public preparations from four hours to a pitiful 30 minutes. Oh, what sacrifices we must make in these desperate times!  

So, in a rough-around-the-edges and not-quite-ready-for-prime-time-appearance, we jumped into Queertanic. Hastily, I became confused and programmed Jordan Commons into the GPS, and off we sped. Alas, we were miles from the appointed destination. So, I cranked the steering wheel to make an emergency U-turn. 

Amid a cacophony of honking horns, Queertanic swerved and jumped the median. My spiked heel nearly punched a hole in the floorboard as I stomped on the gas pedal.  

We arrived, parked, hurried into the building. When we approached the check-in table, we were greeted by a most adorable specimen of the male variety wearing, of all things, a bright orange safety vest that tended to highlight his swarthy olive complexion.

Out of habit, I immediately glanced at his ring finger to see if he was available. AND HE WAS!

I hurriedly pushed Mr. Pap Smear through the turnstile and went into a serious business of flirting with Mr. Orange Vest. Folk stories claim being asked by the staff if they want a shot, they were let in. It quickly became an urban legend. As I batted my eyelashes and giving my best “come hither look”, he did not extend an invitation.

After the fifteen-minute waiting period, we were excused. We decided to celebrate his vaccination by eating Malibu Chicken at a Sizzler next door. Shortly later, Mr. Pap Smear went off to work. So, I swiftly plugged into the computer to sort through some porn — low and behold there in my in-box was MY e-mail invitation. I gasped out in frustrated exasperation. Apparently, it was time to RINSE AND REPEAT!  

This story leaves us with several important questions: 

  1. Would sorting through all the porn on the Internet qualify me for a computer science degree? 
  2. How long does it take Gorilla Glue to wear off? 
  3. Did the orange-vest guy have regulation issuing me an invitation, or was he frightened by my blinking lighted breasticles? 
  4. Should I have at least asked Mr. Orange Vest for his number? 
  5. Should Malibu Chicken become the vaccination celebration food? 
  6. Should I spell “I’m Vaxed” in lights on my breasticles? 

These and other eternal questions will be answered in future chapters of The Perils of Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear

Petunia Pap Smear is a Matron of Mayhem who was born and raised in Cache Valley, Utah. She hosts Third Friday Bingo and the Big Gay Fun Bus.

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