Sometimes a 60-second conversation conveys more than a thousand-word story ever could.
Not in a “I’m getting all the sexy sex I could possibly imagine and I know I’m not missing out on anything, therefore have zero FOMO” kind of way.
More in a “The missing-out part is pretty accurate but the fear-of part does not exist” kind of way.
Because, yeah. Le vag? Le meh.
Discomfited and Uncomfortable
I told my husband recently that I was pretty sure my vagina was sprained.
“It’s…y’know…just like, limping along,” I said. “And you know how when your ankle is sprained, it’s uncomfortable to have any pressure on it?”
He looked at me (sort of — he was driving at the time, so in actuality it was more like he squinted at me quickly out of the corner of his eye) somewhat befuddled-ly, so I attempted to elaborate.
“Or you know how my lower back was all like ‘OUCH’ at me and then I went to massage therapy and it was ouchier but then it was better?”
He cleared his throat. (Possibly because he was remembering his own recent…um…massage therapy.)
Taking this as acknowledgment/understanding/listening-in-the-way-that-only-a-longtime-married-man-can, I continued.
“So basically, my vagina is like that. It’s sprained and generally uncomfortable and I think it needs massage therapy so you should put your fingers to good use sometime soon, m’kay?”
This year has been a blur.
Thanksgiving has come and gone again.
But gratitude is an attitude, not a calendar date.
And this past year, those of you who have come here…
to read, to laugh, to question,
to share
your humor, your stories, your support, your queries, and your perspectives
…THANK YOU for brightening this quirky cloudspace I call Mine.