My doctor’s office called yesterday. They reminded me of my upcoming gyno appointment. I wanted to ask if vampires still needed to get Pap smears, but I wasn’t sure anyone had data on that. I’ve never seen the studies.

So, I hung up the phone and got a snack.

I don’t think I can get cancer. Isn’t that one of the perks of being a vampire?? And what about my heart? I’m not sure the thing beats anymore. Would they notice?

Damn you mysterious vampire guy. You could have at least left some sort of manual or instruction sheet. Even my ThighMaster came with an instruction sheet. Where was that thing anyway?

I figured my options were:

1. Tell them I know longer have a vagina or that I moved to Transylvania. Or maybe that preventative care was so 2012 and I don’t need those purple happy pills anymore.

2. Go in and just see what happens. Not a big fan of this option. The last time I tried this I ended up with chestnut highlights and a perm. It nearly ruined my cheerleading career.

Yep, those were the options. Sucky. Like Chex Mix with all the rye chips and bread sticks picked out.

I decided to cancel. Duh. But now I was curious. So, I went to the grocery store to use one of those fancy blood pressure machines.

I slid my arm into the giant mechanical cuff and tried to relax. It’s not like it would malfunction or break or anything. I’m sure it was designed for pulseless things to be put in it. A large baguette, a kid’s stuffed animal. Who knows what people have stuck in there. This is the grocery store. How else would you entertain yourself while your mom was deciding between regular absorbent and super absorbent tampons?

The cuff tightened and then released. It tightened again, more determined this time, nearly pinching my arm off.

An old man dressed in way too many layers stood to the side of the machine and removed a sheet of paper from his inner coat pocket.

I nodded and gave the sweetest smile I could.

The cuff released with a sigh. Large red numbers announced that something was wrong.

I read the single number first: 28. That was my pulse. According to the machine, normal was above 60. Oops.

My gaze darted to my blood pressure: 184/60. Whoa. Zed at The Yoga Spot would not be happy.

I turned to slide out of the seat.

The old man squinted through his bifocal frames. “You should probably get to the doctor young lady. When I first got my diabetes I had blood pressure like that. Still have it sometimes. Not sure about that other number.” He shook his head. “Looks bad.”

I tossed my bag over my shoulder. “I think I have a cold. And, uh, I’m an athlete. See,” I said sprinting past him, my flip-flops smacking on the white linoleum.

When I got home I crossed a few things off my “someday” to do list:

1. Donate blood. That probably should have been crossed off already. I mean a vampire hanging out in a room full of blood bags. Not very smart.

2. Become an astronaut. Honestly, that probably wasn’t going to happen. But, I’m pretty sure they require a physical, so it’s out for sure now.

3. Learn how to sew. Just because I never really wanted to do that anyway.

Later that day, Mr. Brown Eyes called. He said he knew someone I would be interested in meeting. A man with common interests. You know, someone who’s open to new things. He doesn’t think I’m a swinger, does he?

**Why not start the series from the beginning? Click here to read about Libby’s first day as a vampire**