Time To Carve The Thanksgiving Vagina

I know, I know, a lot of vagina talk right off the bat, but it has been a big part of my goings on as of late.  Most of the time I am happy when we (my vagina and I) are in a silent state of bliss.  Sort of a zen silence is golden understanding…I make sure nothings leaking, creaking, or cracking down there and my vagina leaves me alone (i.e. no protesting with a yeast infection).   I make sure I don’t go filling her up with scented tampons or God forbid a douche (shudder).   I also make sure she is not a hotel with different visitors every night, leaving their STD luggage behind.  My husband is the only guest checking in, and I had his bags screened at the airport before he ever boarded my plane.  So you can see that I felt horribly guilty offering up my vagina to the chopping block to get all my stitches repaired from my son’s birth.  She did such a good job of getting him out, that my vagina didn’t see it coming. 

I lied to my vagina.  I told her it wouldn’t hurt…it did!

I told her it would be over quick…it took an hour!

I told her there would be only one shot, there were SIX bulleyes right between my legs!

This all went down the week before Thanksgiving.  I teased my OB/GYN that he was getting practice for carving the Thanksgiving turkey.  He dryly replied, “turkeys aren’t vaginas.”  I am such a sicko, with my legs in the air getting ready to be carved up my mind started to wander.  Do turkeys even have vaginas?  If a vagina WAS a turkey, what would you serve it with?  Ha ha. (Now I am amusing myself).  Wouldn’t you stuff the turkey vagina with penis stuffing?  (Now I am actually laughing).  All this turkey vagina  talk was doing a wonderful job of distracting me until that first needle pierced that first layer of oh so sensitive skin.  All of the sudden there was NO FUCKING WAY A TURKEY WAS A VAGINA BECAUSE IT WAS MY VAGINA AND I AM NOT A TURKEY AND IT FUCKING HURT!

I thought, my son had better never do drugs, never jaywalk, never speed in his car, never get a bad grade, never be mean to me.  I have earned points in his good behavior bank the hard way.  Of course that is only “slightly” unrealistic, but as my legs started trembling and the shots started going in and my doctor looked for his glasses (that were on his nose) I felt I had earned points in the bank of YOUR CHILDREN ARE ALWAYS WELL BEHAVED…opening a branch near you.  Listen, it is late lovies, I will write more later.  Vagina drama to be continued.

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