The other day I was standing on a ladder painting my new crown molding in my bedroom (I plan to share the bedroom before and after if I ever get to the after) when Sam, always by my side, said to me in a sing song voice, "Momma, I'm looking at my booooty!"
I turned around and almost fell off my ladder because there on the floor was Sam with her legs in the air giving herself a vaginal exam. Gross.
I said, "That's not your booty! That's your vagina!"
Sam replied, "Then I'm looking at my vagiiiiiina."
"Well, don't." I urned back to the crown molding praying that would end the discussion.
"Why? Do you ever look at your vagina?"
I sighed like Moses when he knew he wasn't gettin in to the Promised Land, "No, Sam. I don't look at it."
"When you were a kid did you look at your vagiiiiina?"
Ugh. "I don't know. I guess. Stop talking to me about vaginas."
Later on I got to thinking about this conversation, and not for the obvious reasons of horror and disgust, but because I got to wondering if I should take a look at my lady business just to keep in touch. Big mistake. Huge mistake!
If only I could go back in time to when I didn't see what I saw. Now, I realize that with age and weight gain your body changes. I expect my face to slide off, my boobs to hang low and wobble to and fro, my bat wings to sag, my butt to drag, but I did not realize that my under carriage would suffer similar ravages of time and fat.
It's like a bomb went off, leaving behind a burned out shell surrounded by wrinkly debris. Mon Dieu! When did this happen?! Is it my age, my weight, my baby blow-outs? I'm sure it's all of the above.
Damn Sam and her vag inspections. If you have any doubts about the pristine state of your business, do not take a closer look. Trust, it's better to live a lie than to face the terrible truth of your ramshackle hoo-ha.
I'll be googling "vagina overhaul" and writing a letter of apology to my OBGYN for exposing her and her staff to the Titanic of Vaginas.
Why is this guy trying to feed fish to my vagina?