Dy’all ever watch Ruby? (Or as I call it: “Rube-Y”?) It’s a show on the Style network about a morbidly fat woman in Savannah, Ga., trying to get her weight down to the state of being just, say, merely fat. I like this show. It’s not so much about how to lose weight (though she has shed a hundred pounds — only about 125 to go and she’ll weigh what I do).
Ruby is a nicely-crafted character study of a somewhat dim, damaged American woman living in the South, trying to make sense of the world (and not getting too far, but as her people say, bless her heart. It’s a whole hour of bless her heart, every week. I’m sure her actual heart would have something to say about all this, and maybe one day, the arterial blockage will make way for it to be heard). As reality TV goes, it’s surprisingly gentle; almost like a novel in the making, about a woman who at last submits to the power of positive-Oprah-style living around her.
The other night, it became clear that Ruby had not been to the gynecologist in, well, maybe ever? Too embarrassing, she says. But Ruby’s weight-loss doctor demanded it. So Ruby went to what she calls … are you ready for it?
The Christmas Doctor.
Genteel Ruby is afraid of the word vagina. She calls it “Christmas,” because, she explains, “it’s supposed to be a surprise, a special gift.” In the waiting room, nervously fidgeting (call it “exercise” in her case) Ruby noticed a translucent plastic model of the reproductive system: Y’all, she said, it’s Christmas!
Pretty soon she was in the stirrups, and doc had a look up the chimney. (While I ate my dinner!) Here’s a clip if you want to watch too. (It’s a clip from The Dish, doesn’t show the actual visit.)