The Bajina Bialogues

My friend Katie's four-year-old son asked her if I have penis.

The conversation went like this: 

"Well, she's a girl, so what do you think?"

"Yes, she has a penis."

"Actually, no. Girls have vaginas so she has a vagina"

"Oh! She has a bagina?"

"Yep!" 

 "Oh, is it a dark bagina?"

"Um, well I am not sure. I haven't seen anyone else's vagina."

 "Oh."

This conversation is exactly why life is awesome. Whenever you feel a little bit down, you know, with all the shit going on in the world, with Donald Trump spewing his snake oil everywhere, all you have to do is remind yourself that someone, somewhere, is thinking about your bajina. It really gives you a lift, you know, on those days when your underpants are too tight and you hate your life and someone you like tells you that you look just like Carnie Wilson, which - not that there's anything wrong with Ms. Wilson - is not a compliment. I mean, fuuuuck you.

Oh, I'm pretty sure Robin still thinks about my bajina every once in a while. But since he got hooked on Game Of Thrones, I bet he's not actually thinking about MY bajina. Which is cool, cause I do a lot of thinking about recipes and the new JJill catalogue when I should be thinking about his bajeenis. 

My concern, however, is Katie's little boy's use of the adjective "dark". Does he mean the hue of my bajina? Is he already putting together that stupid drapes matching the carpet bullshit, because I am pretty lax about keeping up with my gray roots.

Or is he referring to its temperament, asking if my baj is, you know, downbeat? 

I wouldn't be surprised if I have a dark baj. I have been told I have a dark sense of humor. I am not a naturally upbeat person, why would my various body parts be different? Even my boobs are downbeat unless I strap on one of my Very Sturdy Uplifting bras. And even then. There is only so much underwire in the Western world.

But, whatevs. Frankly, my baj and I have earned the right to be downbeat. We've seen things. Bad things. It began with that stupid filmstrip we had to watch in fourth grade Health class. I walked away from that movie more confused about my bajina than I had been before. Not to mention unsure of where my berbix was. Or my bulba.

For one thing, what I gleaned from the filmstrip was that you get your period at age twelve and you have it every day until you are fifty. Every day.  Why had no one told me this before?

Also, the filmstrip twice mentioned the importance of not showering in water that was too hot or too cold when you have your period. But they never explained why. I am still concerned about that one even though I am eleven years post menopause. You never know.

I went home that day and asked my big sister about it all. But she was no help. Karen and I had a lot of unanswered questions about bodies and what goes on with them. Our theory is that it all started because our dad used to use the euphemism for going to the bathroom, seeing a man about a dog.

Every night after dinner, he'd pick up the LA Times from the coffee table and say to us, "Well, I am going to go see a man about a dog."

And then he'd go into the bathroom. For, like, a zillion hours.

And Karen and I would crouch by the door, waiting. YIPPEE. WE ARE GONNA GET A PUPPY!

We were so excited. Every night. It took us years to catch on. More years than you'd think. Science is not the strong suit of the Brown girls. 

Still, we managed to figure it out, even most of the stuff about our bajinas although Karen was iffy about where her hymen was until alarmingly recently. We also managed to have kids and raise them to be quite smart, even about science.

Katie, on the other hand, is probably lying down somewhere dark and quiet with a cold compress on her forehead, wondering if her extensive background in Early Childhood Education is going to be enough to get her through motherhood.

It isn't, Katie. But I'll send you the filmstrip.