The Vagina Dialogues

I feel bad about my vagina.

Why? Because there is a woman out there who has taught her vagina to knit. It's true because it's on Facebook. (http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/12/04/vaginal-knitting_n_4386419.html)

No less than eight people sent me the link to this story. I'm not really sure what it is about me that makes people people read about a woman who knits from her vagina and think of me. Do I seem like a knitter?

Just when I had come to terms with who I am, with my limitations and lack of accomplishments, along comes this woman with her overachieving, Advanced Placement vagina and reminds me that my vagina is a slacker. 

Frankly, I don't think my vagina is up to the task of knitting. My vagina is as lazy and unmotivated to get in shape as the rest of me. Oh, my vagina talks a good talk about doing a hundred Kegels a day and all, but when it comes down to it, she does, like, two of them and then tells my face to make it look like I'm still squeezing. Totally fake.

 I bet my vagina is even faking it when I masturbate. Talk about lazy.

 Oh, I get it that my vagina cannot just sit around on Her duff all day long. I've heard that when a woman my age allows her vagina to just lie around watching reality  television all day, the lady parts just go to Hell, and before you can say, "Nineteen Kids And Counting", your bladder has slipped down into your Dansko clogs.

I don't need that kind of aggravation. It's hard enough to keep my clogs clean with all the wine I spill.

"Did you hear?" I reproached my vagina. "Did you hear about the vagina that can knit?"

My vagina shrugged (weakly. And only for a count of two). "Big whoop."

"Really? And what do you do all day?"

"I stay mellow. I keep to myself. You know, so I won't get all irritated." My vagina answered with a snicker.

I had to laugh, too. My vagina is is so fricking clever with the bon mots. 

We laughed and laughed until tears ran down my legs.

I gave my vagina a cold stare."You had ONE job."

"Sorry," said my vagina, handing me a tissue. "I'm sixty, for Goddsake. I get tired."

I can't stay mad at my vagina. I change my underpants and we take a nap. 

Life is not a competition. Arise, you vagina slackers. Well, arise, and then lay down. We're weak, we leak, get used to it.

However, if anyone hears of a vagina that can mix a perfect Blue Hawaii cocktail, message me immediately.