Warning: If you are related to me in any way (including you, Inlaws), you will want to skip this post. Thank you.
The Vagina. Everyday friend and occasional foe to women. Complete mystery to men. It used to be something we could joke about, calling it names like tuna taco, batcave, and bearded clam. Now you can rarely call vaginas bearded, as it’s all about no grass on the infield these days. And ya know what — people are taking the vag entirely too seriously. I worked for LivingSocial.com for over two years, and if I had a nickel for every vajazzling or waxing deal I’d written, I would be on a beach somewhere drinking something tropical. With a hairless vag. But that’s not reality.
Reality is two kids, two dogs, freelance writing deadlines, and cooking everyone their own customized version of dinner because this one likes this but the other likes that..yada yada yada. It’s not putting Swarovski crystals on my nether regions so my vajayjay sparkles like a pair of stripper heels. Who wants to draw so much attraction to that area? I try to fly that region far under the radar these days. My vag might as well be wearing a disguise, as it’s certainly incognito. Young, single ladies are carefully planning their landing strips, while my husband feels lucky if I occasionally let him land there. I don’t get out the fucking batons waving him in for landing.
And if your man is asking for the Telly Savalas, you may want to ask him how much time he’s spending hanging out at the local playground. Come on. Should you go ahead and feed into this bizarre fantasy, I highly recommend you wax or laser, as shaving down to the nub will leave you itching for days, yo. Is it worth everyone thinking you have crabs to go hairless? You decide.
And what’s with the clitoris piercings, vag tattoos, and fancy waxing for anyway? When did women decide we had to decorate our nether regions? Don’t even get me started on anal bleaching. Really, people, just leave that shit alone. If you’ve got the time to bleach your anus and decorate your vagina like it’s a float in the goddamn Rose Parade, then I’ve got some work for you to do. I’ll pay in vajazzles with a yearly bonus in anal bleaching. How does that sound?
The truth is — if you had your man stand at the bottom of the bed versus the top of the bed during childbirth, you may be coaxing him out of his persistent case of vag-nesia. Because you can’t zap that memory from his brain like those mind erasers from Men in Black, he could very well be in the throws of Post Traumatic Vag Disorder. Whether you reap the benefits of this by enjoying more time on Pinterest is your decision. Or you can try to reclaim your pre-childbirth vag. Go ahead and vajazzle. Go for the whole shebang with a vag rejuvenation. I’ll be over here — playing Words With Friends.
*Photo Courtesy of thanlont.blogspot.com