A Bush By Any Other Name

I was supposed to be writing. You know, serious, real writing. After I finished, or thought I finished, The End of Love, one of the commenters wondered if I shouldn't put some meat on the bones of poor Junior. Then a new commenter, a man I'd never seen around these parts, suggested that I was awfully hard on the poor guy. Had Judith tried an intervention for Junior? Obviously one doesn't leave a dying drunk without trying everything to save him. Forget love, what about human compassion and kindness, and simple human decency. Junior? Really? Okay, let's give Junior's side of the story, or at least the early years or even just the first couple of months. That should set the stage for what comes later for Junior, right?

So I started, and it was interesting going for awhile looking at the world through Junior's eyes. But dammit, Junior doesn't really interest me that much anymore. I got over Junior pretty fast. I stepped over him on the way out the door. What got me interested again was when, in giving the back story on Junior, my focus turned to Judith, and what they hell was she thinking to leave her husband... Well, that's not hard to figure out. That's the problem with all of the Judith stories. What the hell was Judith thinking to end up with this schmuck? That's a big question for me. But I think now I know the answer. It's complicated psychological stuff. But to the outsider, it's a head smacking question. How could she end up with this guy??? Why did she do it? And then I got bored with her story, and went looking for diversion. So much for work.

I went to visit Dcup's where I'm always entertained, and challenged, or moved, and what did I find but a serious discussion of vaginas. Having had one all my life I thought I knew almost everything there was to know about the vagina, but I know so very little, it turns out. This might have been part of Judith's problem. She knew so little about her own vagina.

When I was little, it was called a twat. In my house I had heard someone refer to what I knew of the place I pee peed from as a twat. We lived in Texas. I guess that explains something, but I pronounced the word tock. So for my very early years it was my tock. As in tick tock. When I was in need of relieving my bladder it was my tock that needed attention--I knew nothing of bladders.

I think what started the interest in vaginas, as a subject at Dcups, was the revelation that there is a booming new business amongst the most famous and renowned plastic surgeons in Vaginal Reconstruction. This goes way beyond tending to the bush. This is much more than mere grooming. We're talking vaginal ideal. Think of that for a moment. VAGINAL IDEAL!!!! What does it look like, you might ask? Well it's small and pink and it's clit peeks out at you and probably winks and smiles. Open wide, but not too wide. Show pink. Like a nine year old. Apparently internet porn has made the fashionable pussy, the pussy that looks like a little girls. This creates lots of jobs. Since women of sex having age don't have little pink pussies. God for fucking bid that you've had a kid or three, it is this very motherfucking fact that creates this need for women who wax other women's twats. You need a housekeeper and a what!!? And if that wasn't bad enough, there is now the burning need for plastic surgeons to make them look virginal again. Well that's a relief. Create a need, and then the need creates a demand, and that creates the Specialists to fill the need. Capitalism at work. Isn't America a wonderful place.

P.S. Tomorrow will be my 200 post in six months of blogging. Scary, huh?