I will begin by saying that I’ve been on a vagina kick lately. I’m not sure why.
Loony told me that I should never share the following events with anyone which means I absolutely must blog about it.
It’s gross. And way too much information. You’ve been warned.
I bought tickets to a Planned Parenthood fundraiser which Anne (the spelling of her name has been changed to protect her identity) called the Abortion Party which isn’t entirely fair because PP does so much more than abortions but let’s face it, the small fraction of their services that are abortion related are what’s putting them in the conservative crosshairs.
I don’t feel the need to distance myself from this issue.
I am pro-choice which means pro-abortion but actually I’m pro-birth control because reliable birth control lessens the demand for abortions, which women should be able to legally obtain for whatever reason.
So even though I am pro-abortion, my political choices ultimately will lead to less abortions. Which makes me against abortions because people with access to birth control don’t get knocked up as much.
Since anti-choicers are also largely anti-birth control and leading the charge against Planned Parenthood, they are in action increasing the demand for abortions which makes them pro-abortion.
As if this is difficult to understand.
So yes, I’ll go to a fundraiser. You bet. What does this have to do with female genital mutilation, aside from the tangential feminist issues?
The fundraiser was a gala (i.e. better shave my legs) and I decided to go for it and do a little bushwhacking.
I told you this was going to be full-disclosure.
I did the undercarriage with Loony’s razor (teehee) and then got out the scissors to trim the shrub. I guess I was kind of in a hurry and not really paying attention … always pay attention when scissors are near your genitals … and the next thing I knew I cut a piece of my inner labia off.
You heard me.
So there was a lot of blood and mostly horror and I stuffed a wad of toilet paper between my legs and clamped my thighs tightly to stanch the bleeding. Then I saw the tiny sliver of my delicate flower on the scissors and almost barfed.
Oh fuck. Even thinking it about it makes me cross my legs.
I had to get dressed and I hoped the bleeding would stop soon so I hobbled around my room in a panic getting my makeup and stuff together.
Then Loony came home and up the stairs. He walked in on me buck naked, dripping wet, with a giant wad of bloody toilet paper between my legs.
What did you do?!
I CUT OFF A PIECE OF MY COOCH!
Oh my god. Are you okay?
WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Do you want me to take a look at it?
FOR FUCK’S SAKE NO!
Honey, you have to be careful with scissors. Those are really sharp.
NO SHIT SHERLOCK!
Those nerves are never going to grow back.
Are you going to bleed all over your dress?
I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!
Jesus, that must have hurt.
I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT!
You should never talk about it again.
You are probably right. I’ll just blog about it.
So that happened, thus validating my decision to not circumcise my boys.
You know that shit is done without anesthetic? To a two day-old baby?!
Having been there myself, thank you very much, I am glad I didn’t do it to my kids. I think all people who elect to circumcise their children should experience it first hand, and not a billion years ago when they were babies, but right now, before they give the surgeon/moyle the go-ahead.
The take away is don’t circumcise your boys or girls.
Now I’m driving through Nebraska.
Besides the fact that I am blogging from the road and don’t have good wi-fi, I am refraining from posting a bunch images mostly because I’m afraid of Google Images.
Except for this one.
PS: I composed this whole blog while doing yoga which means I was probably missing the point of doing yoga.