They say dentists are the most hated people on earth.

Well you know who says that? Men. Because if anyone stopped to ask a woman, she would undoubtedly tell you that the one professional she despises above all others is her gynecologist.

Think about it. Which is worse: someone shoving foreign objects around your teeth, or around your vagina? Hmm …

The first problem with every visit to the gynecologist is that you have to get naked. It is never a good sign when your doctor makes you strip off all your clothes — I don’t care how good looking he or she is.

I grant you that being naked really isn’t a big deal in the general scheme of things, and if it were just sitting around without clothes on, I would say, “”Hey. Cool. Go naked time!”” But of course this is not the case, because we have to wear that wonderful item hot off the runways of Paris: the paper gown.

The paper gown is truly the cruelest joke doctors can play on their patents. First of all, it’s always folded in such a way that it is impossible to open without ripping it. So of course, you are then forced to feel like a moron because you actually have to ask for another one.

Second, it is never clear whether or not the open flap (also known as the embarrassing side) should be facing the front or the back. We are forced to guess whether or not the doctor wants a full frontal the second she walks in the door, and let’s face it, no matter what the answer is, I’m still gonna look like an ass.

None of this would be that bad if the gowns were always the same shape and format. We as intelligent patients could simply remember the proper paper gown protocol and act accordingly. But we are constantly denied this opportunity because they keep changing how the gowns look.

Somewhere on this planet, some very lonely man (who hates women) is sitting in a lab designing new paper gowns as part of his vicious plot to take over the world. And it’s working, dammit.

There’s the two-piece, the long gown, the short gown and my personal favorite: the huge piece of paper towel that comes with its very own string. What the hell am I supposed to do with that stupid ribbon, may I ask? Make a nice matching bow in my hair? Because that dinky string sure as hell isn’t keeping that paper toga around my body.

But perhaps the greatest part of the paper gown is that it has the power to make every doctor in a 10-mile radius completely forget your existence. Once you’re finally “”wearing”” the damn thing, you have to sit there with nothing to do except rediscover your own cellulite while the gynecologist ignores you. This is because she and everyone else in the office is secretly watching and laughing at you on the other side of a secret peep-hole you are too scared to look for because if you so much as stand up, your pretty paper gown will fall off.

But once the gynecologist does come in to start the actual medical exam, the real fun begins. This fun can best be described in two words: metal tongs. Since men may be reading this, I’m not going to go into detail about what those are for, but we’re talking about a vaginal exam here, and I think we all know what’s going on.

But I will say this: Metal is a conductor (that’s the only thing I remember learning in high school physics). This means that it gets cold – very cold. I don’t really like putting cold metal anywhere on my body, but if I had a choice, the last place I would want it is between my legs.

And yes, I know that some doctors are not complete sadomasochists and use plastic tongs. But you know, at that point, I really don’t give a rat’s ass that the equipment in question is two degrees warmer. Here’s a good rule of thumb, people: If it’s not a penis, get it the hell away from my vagina! Metal, plastic, Styrofoam — even biodegradable paper, no matter how environmentally safe — are not welcome.

You know how people often antagonize those they don’t like with the threat of shoving things up their ass? (I do this all the time.) Well that’s because the sensation of getting anything forcefully shoved up any orifice of your body is slightly less than pleasant.

So basically, I wouldn’t like the person who shoved a shovel up my ass or a pencil up my nose, and I certainly, definitely, hate my gynecologist. If you have a problem with that, I have a pair of metal tongs in my bag — bring it on.