Fourth Percentile for Capillary Circumference

I’ve never been accused of being a waif.  In fact, the Scotts are an ample clan.  Not huge, by any means, but solid.  Round.  Rubenesque, if you will.

(All except my brother, who’s always been built like a professional rock climber.  Asshole.)

I had boobs when I was, like, eleven, and my big, black ex-boyfriend used to effuse about my “sista booty”.  My thighs are thick, my fingers like lovely little sausages…Vienna sausages.  Everything about me is a bit bigger than it needs to be.

So imagine my surprise to find that I have tiny

tiny

tiny

veins.

I went to have blood drawn, and the nurse tried my right arm, my left arm, and my left hand.  Then she called for back-up.  The second nurse had me take off my shoes so she could try to tap a vein in my foot.  No dice.

I have to go back on Monday.  The second nurse told me to drink a lot of water, and she would try to procure a pediatric needle for the next whack at it.