You know the old adage about if you love something you should set it free and if it loves you it will come back? That happened to me and my vagina once.
I went to Mexico on a day trip. My friend Brenda went with me. We stopped in Ensenada, a little town near the border. We were walking down the street, minding our own business, talking about where we could buy Retin-A or Valium to smuggle back across the border when a little Mexican man stepped out of the shadow of an alley and blocked our path. He pointed at the ground near my feet and said, “Excuse me, Miss. You dropped your vagina.”
I looked to where he was pointing. Nothing was there. I smiled like how you do when suddenly faced with a potential crazy person and said, “Um… no, that’s not mine. Mine is much pinker than that.”
Then Brenda and I crossed the street and giggled all the way back to our car. But that made me start thinking… what would it be like if a vagina was just an accessory? Something you could take out whenever you wanted? You could buy vaginas in different sizes, shapes, colors. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? There could be name-brand vaginas. Jaclyn Smith and Martha Stewart could have their own line of designer vaginas. There would be spring vaginas, fall vaginas, winter vaginas. Walmart would sell vaginas that cost less and are made by children in Taiwan. Athletes would have sports vaginas.
Excuse me, does this vagina make my butt look big?
Does this vagina go with these shoes?
Don’t wear a white vagina after Labor Day.
Christians could advocate not wearing your vagina as a birth control device.
Vaginas would have cute little cases to carry them around in. I would love to have a Kate Spade vagina case.
Vaginas could double as coin purses.
Brenda and I discussed the possibilities all the way home to Los Angeles. I dropped her off at her apartment in the valley. When I got to my apartment back in Hollywood, my answering machine was blinking. I pressed the button and heard Brenda’s voice say, “I know you just dropped me off, but I thought you should know that your vagina somehow got in my luggage. I put it on the counter while I unpacked my stuff and when I came back in the room the cat was playing with it. I put it in the sink to soak. I think it may have gotten scratched and stretched out a little, sorry, I’ll pay for any damages. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later!”
There was a pause then a new message began playing. It was Brenda. “Hi, it’s me again. Your vagina was getting really wrinkled in the sink. I took it out and dabbed some Retin-A on it. Can I put it in the dryer? Is it Wash ‘n Wear? Call me back.”
There was a third beep and the machine played another message, “You know what? Forget about it. I’ll take you to Vaginas ‘R Us tomorrow. You can buy another one. This one is pretty worn out. You can keep this one as a back up but it’s not looking pretty.”
I didn’t buy a new vagina. I kept the old one. There’s just something about a comfortable old vagina, you know?
We’ve been inseparable ever since.
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