Squashing Cancer

Larainy is so fond of her dear female readers, that she feels called upon to save your life by reminding you of certain preventative health procedures, that although unpleasant, will at the very least make you feel self righteous.  So, once again let me take you by the metaphorical hand and lead you through a 

mammogram

Remember the princess?  She is the one who likes to putter about among the flowers of her garden, mulching, dead heading the roses and squashing snails with a smart crack from the toe of her dainty boots.  One bright autumn day, after dispatching a goodly number of snails, she was scraping the goo off her Manolo Blahnik's when she looked up and saw the wise old man.  She knew he was wise because he was wearing a heavy gold chain about his wizened neck, and we all know that gold has proven to be a very wise investment indeed.

The wise old man squinted at the pretty princess, unable to see her clearly because of the gnarled tangle of overgrown eyebrows obscuring his vision.  "Come here my dear" he said, waggling his prodigious brows, "For I have something important to tell you."

"Oh no" said the princess.  "Not the magic powder again!  I was sitting on the throne for an eternity."

The wise old man slapped his knee and cackled with unsympathetic delight.  "No, no my child.  This is another adventure entirely.  Now listen closely and follow my instructions with care.

The lovely princess swallowed nervously and sighed.  "Very well."

"First of all" the wise old man said, "You must take a wet clump of moss and scrub off all the fine French deodorant you are wearing in your armpits."

The princess looked puzzled, but nodded her acquiescence.

"Next" he continued, you must search until you find Helga.

"How will I know her?" asked the princess.

"By her large hands and forearms, and the tight bun she wears that pulls her face into a tight mask of exemplary stoicism.  Oh, and she will be wearing pink scrubs."

The princess nodded uncertainly.  She had never trusted women with tight buns.  "What will Helga do to me?"

The old man pulled at his grey beard and continued.  "That, my dear is a mystery that men like me cannot fathom.  But I do know it involves..." and here he paused and coughed delicately, "compression of the love pillows."

And so it was that the princess bravely set off to find Helga, who did indeed compress, depress, constrict and wring the poor Princess' love pillows every which way to Sunday.  But the Princess endured it with regal grace and then went and drank a milkshake.