... there we go) and, after examining the fetus' GI tract, dropped the organs in the chest cavity and quipped, "I pronounce this gloppy and disgusting." We all have our defense mechanisms, but that kind of thing is less "hot doorknob from Home Alone" and more "needle-filled pit from Saw II."
But we're not all like that. Me? I am a fastidious junk-coverer.
A lot of students left the cadavers' genitals uncovered and, in some baffling cases, even used them as a handhold when peering over the body. Not me. In life, those cadavers (probably) preferred their privates private, or at least not manhandled like a grip on a pommel horse. I try to respect that. (Then again, maybe a few would have appreciated that the embalming process can and does hideously distend even modest genitals to Ron Jeremy proportions).
I'd warn you not to image search that, but you and I both know how that's going to turn out.
Also, I'd always apologize to my cadaver whenever I had to rest a textbook on her face or when I did a particularly terrible job dissecting, which was more or less always. I would even carefully explain the process I was botching. At one point, I gave her hand a reassuring squeeze when I moved it out of the way. Said hand was entirely skinless. When we began discussing the budding relationship of one of our lab partners, I did internally debate whether we should be chatting about sex acts while pulling apart the brachial plexus. Our cadaver was in her 90s. Did she really need to hear a discussion on how to deal with ball-sack sweat while engaging in a 69? Somehow the intangible stuff -- insults, propriety, and general courtesy -- becomes more important when we're cracking sternums and slicing arteries.