A long time ago, someone (I’m sure it was a man), decided that women are the weaker sex. What a bunch of hooey.

Think about all the sh*t and pain that women have to put up with that men don’t. Periods. Cramps. GIVING BIRTH!!! (Try pushing a 6 pound something out of one of your tiny orifice, guys.).

And if that’s not enough, there’s menopause, which comes with hot flashes, night sweats, insomnia, vajayjay dryness, hair loss and urinary problems.

Still, there’s something we ladies endure that’s in a category by itself: getting a mammogram. A mammogram is an x-ray of the breast tissue, which doesn’t sound so bad, right? True, it’s an important tool doctors use to screen for breast cancer. But trust me. It’s also a torture device.

In case you don’t know–and you’re a male, you probably don’t–here’s how the process goes: a technician jams your boob onto a horizontal glass plate while forcefully arranging your arms, legs and shoulders into an awkward position that would not be described as looking like you were doing a happy dance.

We ladies have to remain in that position–frozen and not breathing–during every image they take, but that’s hardly the worst part. Another plate comes down from above, squishing your breast between the two glass plates, compressing your tata as flat as a tortilla. Well, not exactly a tortilla, a fluffy pancake maybe, but you get the picture.

Needless to say, it’s uncomfortable. Sometimes it hurts like hell. And once they’ve tormented you on one breast, the do it all over again on the other one.

If you’re small-breasted (guilty as charged), the tech pulls and pushes and stretches your breast tissue like it’s Domino’s pizza dough. If you’re big-busted, they have to smoosh more of your breast down, down down, squeezing it between the two glass plates. 

I’m not usually one to complain when getting a test or vaccine, but during my last mammogram (which I’m thrilled to report, showed no indication of malignancy), I was in so much agony I squealed like a pig, shrieking like the devil had come for me, which he did in the form of this device.

Look, I don’t mean to underplay or demean the significance of mammography as an important health care tool, and we women are lucky to have it.

All I’m saying is if they can figure out how to put a man on the moon, which Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin they first did back in 1969, why can’t they make a contraption to screen for breast cancer which doesn’t inflict so much pain at the same time?

If this kind of suffering was happening to a sensitive part of the male anatomy, say a guy’s testicles had to be mashed like a potato for a health screening, I’m pretty sure the problem would be fixed lickity-split.