I'm not sure, but I think I may now be legally bound to "be the next Arthur C. Clarke," having declared that intention to my gynecologist while I was wearing some sort of cocktail napkin. I must say that it is rather odd to have a casual conversation about the latest Harry Potter book during a pelvic exam. You know, on the day they send all the boys out of the classroom, the teacher really ought to cover how to make appropriate small talk after the gynecologist breaks out the speculum.
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