I thought that once I got to be Pope, people would treat me with a little respect--but noooo.

I'm in my office the other day, Googling the Dalai Lama to see if he's still getting more coverage than me (yes--19 million to my 9 million!), when the girl from Human Resources knocks and says it's time for my physical. I erase my search history and follow her down the hall. I'm a good German--I don't ask questions, I just do what I'm told.

I walk into the Vatican Nurse's office, we say hello, and she says this will only take a minute, its a routine exam, lift up your vestments. I follow her instructions, figuring I'm too old for her to check me for an undescended testicle, when she sticks her hand between my legs!

I jumped like a freaking kangaroo, and not just because she'd been drinking a frozen latte when I came in. What the hell are you doing, I asked her, and she looked at me like I'm the crazy one!

She says its a long-standing tradition that an incoming pope has to undergo a physical exam to prove he's a man. They didn't check me when I was hired because I was too busy with photo shoots for Parade Magazine and My Little Messenger. Funny how they don't tell you these things when you're applying for a job.

I said "Of course I'm a man! My name's Benedict!" That proves nothing, she says like she's a tough police sergeant giving me the third degree. It seems there was a "Popette" in the ninth century who went by the name of "John", until "he" gave birth to a child while riding on a horse. I've heard of women having babies in the back seat of a cab, but never on a horse.

So the nurse says I have to go through with it otherwise health insurance won't cover my delivery if I have a baby. Well, like I always say, miracles do happen, so I gritted my teeth and told her to go ahead.

But can you wash your hands with warm soapy water first, I asked. That frozen latte looked awfully cold.