The other day I asked my husband how I was looking “down there”. He thought about it for a minute and then used the words “homey, charming and slightly rustic” to describe my womanly real estate.
Apparently my vagina is a fixer upper. What was once the jewel of the neighborhood has turned into a shabby lean-to with an overgrown lawn and a leak problem.
Now I’m sitting here on the couch with my laptop wondering what I should do about it. Should I embrace it’s warm feelings of home-cooked meals and echoes of children’s laughter? Or is it time for a complete overhaul?
I put my browser into incognito mode, because I seriously do not need enhanced vagina ads chasing me all over the internet and then I do a little search.
It seems I have a few options. Option #1 is to back my truck WAY up and put the good old hymen back in place. Tempting? Let’s see….I remember nervous laughs, fumbling, pawing and a final act that arrives before I even get seated. No. Not tempting. Not at all.
Option #2: Buccal (oral) mucosa. My husband couldn’t imagine a better renovation plan if he tried. Basically, they take some tissue from inside your cheek and move it down to shore up the walls of the love canal. This one requires a little more thought….if I opt for this, can I get credit for a blow job every time we have sex? Tempting….but no. Because ick.
Option #3: the good old labiaplasty. A few snips here, some extra support beams there and suddenly my hooha is ready to be shown off at parties. Just one minor problem: decreased sensation. Aww man, you have GOT to be kidding me. What’s the point of building a mcmansion if I gotta sleep on a blow-up mattress inside it?
Option #4: I don’t have any clue what option 4 is because I accidentally clicked on the image search tab and now I’m clawing my eyeballs out.
I may not have the newest vagina on the block. Let’s face it, no matter how much reconstructing I do, the lot that it’s sitting on is showing its age. I could start with a snip and a stitch and move on to a nip and a tuck, round it out with a lift and tone and shine the whole package up with collagen and botox injections. I’d be a 37 year old blow-up doll with the pleasure sensations to match.
I pop up to the loo to take a gander at the old girl and see if there might be a slightly less invasive solution I could consider. A few minutes with the weed-wacker, a couple of coats of shimmer body paint and I’m starting to feel like a new old woman.
Maybe I have this all wrong. My vagina is not a fixer upper. It’s a family home, full of character, rich with history, and, most importantly, the only damn place my husband is guaranteed to find comfort on a cold night.
If you think this story is funny, you’ll definitely want to read about the time my husband, I mean my “friend’s husband” thought one of his balls had gone missing…Click here to read Calling Nurse Wife.