I’d like to have a little discussion about my vagina. No, you perverts, not that kind of discussion. She doesn’t do parlor tricks like shooting ping pong balls across the room or lip sink to popular tunes from the 80’s, so don’t get yourselves too worked up from the excitement. My vagina and I have had a long standing love hate relationship. I should re-word that, we have a long standing hate relationship. I hate her, she hates me. Every once in a while we get along, but it’s more like how a prison inmate gets along with their lawyer during visiting hours. We’re there for one reason, and one reason alone. It’s not a pretty relationship, but we live with it, and it works.
I’ll start off by saying, she’s dramatic. Always getting herself twisted about one ting or another. Her period, UTI’s, baby fever, new penises…you know, the usual. She tenses up, swears at me, and all but packs up to leave. It’s kind of her thing, I let her have her moment, and then we carry on with our day. Ops normal, move along, nothing to see here. We go through this, day in and day out. It’s a constant struggle, but we manage. I have noticed, however, that in her old age she is a bit more prone to suggestion. I see a baby, she swells up and starts ovulating. I mention UTI, and she won’t let me go near a bathroom for hours. New penis? Forget about it. She shuts the steal doors, and swallows the key.
There is no way a new penis is ever visiting again. Believe it or not, I’m usually ok with all these little quirks of hers. It is what it is, and I can manage.
Her newest thing
because new is awesome is really what’s bothering me. A good friend of mine always gets her period the week before me. Always. She finishes, three days later I start. Don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to have a friendly heads up as to when the demons are coming to eat your uterus. What I don’t like is when her vagina, who is obviously a bitch, decides to start her period a whole week early. Yes, a whole week. I keep track. My vagina heard this on Sunday, and was cramping up like she was ready to die by Monday night. I sat there on my couch, hunched over, trying to sweet talk her away from the dark side. By 1 a.m. the cramps were waking me up, and my back was hurting. I was convinced my period would be starting with the sunrise. Alas, I woke up the next morning to nothing, nothing but mild cramps. By the time I left for work, I had finally talked her off the ledge. The day was then littered with mini menstrual moments, of which I assume, will continue for another week until the actual day arrives. Oh joy is me. Oh joy to my vagina, as she teeters on the ledge taunting the uterus eating demons.
As I said before, I’d like to have a little discussion about my vagina. I hate her, she hates me.