Vaginas are in right now. I think Trump started it with his “grab em in the pussy” remark and it’s snowballed ever since.
I have some friends who are making plates cast from anonymous women’s nether parts. I’ve been asked to participate but I’m not sure if I want to.
It’s not that I disagree with what she’s doing, I support her 100 percent. It’s just that the other day someone showed me one of those plates but before doing so she said, “Before I show this to you, I just want to put the disclaimer out there that this is the most perfect vagina ever. I’m sure whoever’s it is never had kids.” As if to prepare me for the blinding perfection that would do nothing but throw me into a tailspin of insecurity.
Most perfect vagina ever? WHAT’S THAT?!?!
And then I thought hold the phone, if people are going to look at these plates and assign some kind of value to them, or rank them in the order of prettiness, I’m not sure if I want my cooch out there to be judged, even if it is anonymous.
I can see myself at the show opening and wondering which one is mine and if the people in the room think it is pretty or not.
Up until now I’ve had a very comfortable relationship with my vagina. It serves a purpose, it does its job. I feel about my vagina like I feel about the back of my neck, behind my ears, the inside of my forearm, behind my knees … out of sight, out of mind. I’m glad its there but I don’t waste a single moment of my day wondering how it looks.
I’ve put off having my gal “cast” until I’m a solid yes because I don’t feel like I need to do it to prove anything. But I’m not saying no. I’m just thinking about it.
What did the vagina plate look like, you ask? It looked like a vagina. The end.
So last night Loony and I were in bed when Stitch blew up my phone about a thing she’s into and just had to share a picture with me. And we talked about this as it pertains to a move she calls The Lazy Lesbian …
Usually I’d be like, “Eh, no,” to the picture but I thought hey, why not? If she wants to share something with me then who am I to say no? I’m practicing being an accepting and non-judgemental parent.
It got all Feminine Mystique up in here.
So she sent me a picture of her vagina (kids these days) and this conversation ended up happening …
I’ve never actually taken a picture of my gal, except for that wedding reception I went to 20 years ago where there were disposable cameras on each of the tables and Husband No. 1 shoved it down his pants and I thought that was a great idea so I took a self-portrait. But aside from that, never.
Loony was right next to me as all this went down and he didn’t bat an eye when I handed him my phone and was like, “Hey babe, take a picture of my cooch. It’s for Stitch.”
Stitch lost it when she saw the picture of Scheissehund photobombing my vag. She knows all about him because she’s dog sat for him before, she knows what a crotch hound he is.
Maybe after this very cooch affirming conversation with Stitch I’ll be ready to have my hoohah cast in porcelain.
I’ve had more than a few friends suggest that I’m going through a mid-life crisis and I’m all, “Yeah, your point?”
Is it a crisis if it doesn’t turn your life upside down? I like to think of life as an adventure.
Sometimes I think I’m the only person in my age bracket that is enjoying getting her freak on but then this morning I was at the gym stretching next to a woman who is older than me. She recognized me from the big Halloween party days and asked if I was going to a party this weekend.
These days I’m more into going to clubs with Loony and dancing rather than running into every single person I know – just incase I want to cut loose – and she wanted to know where I go and then proceeded to ask if I’ve ever heard of that gay sex podcaster and I was like, “Dan Savage?!” and showed her my phone which *legit* had Savage’s most latest podcast playing as I was working out.
Then she told me that when she was in LA she went to his Hump film festival (I went last year) and then went to a gay bar where there was a transgender fashion show dance-off and I was thinking that maybe I have just made a new friend.
Of course I would not have guessed any of this by the looks of her, which makes it all the better.
What does any of this have to do with the title of this post? I asked Loony what time it was after signing off with Stitch and said, “It must be two hairs past a freckle,” which is what people used to say when they weren’t wearing a watch and only had a naked wrist to look at.
I dunno, it just tickled me to hear him cart out such an arcane saying. Sometimes he make me swoon because words are my language of love.
This is funny …
And he’s a rare good picture of me and my homegirl the other night.
To be fair, it’s just a good picture of me (as in I don’t look old), you can’t see AB, but she was looking fine that night and usually hates every picture I ever take of her anyway.
This post ought to lose me a few followers. Heheh.