The proper care and feeding of vaginas

It's no secret that I'm convinced I was born into the wrong body. There was some sort of confusion that day in heaven, because though I was supposed to be a boy, I woke up with a vagina installed instead. You can imagine my horror.

People in possession of penises have it way better than the non-penis variety. Having a vagina is the Anti-happy. When men say that women should just be thankful that they only have to deal with men and not women, I beg to differ. The vagina is not only a woman, but she is the High Priestess of Don't Piss Me Off For I Will Ruineth Your Lifeville. We are merciless to her moods and temper tantrums, and it never stops. Ever.

The penis is of simple design and purpose. They are convenient, versatile, and each comes with its own built in smiley face, because they're so damn happy from the get go. There are no special care instructions, no maintenance regimen, and no PH to balance. It can take a beating and still show up in a party hat ready to do the Hokey Pokey. It's a dependable little guy who rarely causes any problems, and if it does, nine times out of ten it can be blamed on the owner.

The vagina, on the other hand, is a delicate, complex, and self-sustaining ecosystem; a world within a world. There's a lot going on in there. If you look at microscopic photos, the activity is the equivalent to that of Tokyo. Imagine 34 million little bacteria, microbes, and other critters colonizing, building cities and techno dancing. Now imagine that they all must get along, work together in complete unison and harmony, and share and say please and thank you. We know this is impossible. Humans can't do it and neither can vagina dwellers. So, as in all cities, the nefarious minority- the bandits and opportunists - ruin it for everyone. 

In this environment, if one - even one - of those little bastards does something wrong, like say, steal a hotdog from a street vendor, it's nothing short of the butterfly effect. The siren sounds in downtown Vaginaville. Shit has done hit the fan. The critters begin to scatter and prepare for the violent uprisings to come. After all, they've seen this all before. Madam Vagina will tolerate no tomfoolery. As the cities start to crumble to the ground, the bacteria lift up their swords and multiply, trampling the microbes in a murderous path beneath them. Yes, it is war, and in the days to come there will be much turmoil and gnashing of teeth. 

All because you went swimming in a fucking lake.

After all, we can't disturb the utopian society; the perfect balance that the High Priestess demands. In your time or sorrow, you'll try to bargain with her, to no avail.

Me: Why are you mad at me?

She only cuts her eyes and stares off into some far away place.

Me: I won't do it again, but I have to know what I did to upset you.

I shouldn't have to tell you, you should just know, she pouts.

Me: Look, I'm sorry. I'll do anything to make this right. You want a bath? I'll make you a bath.

High Priestess: A bath, you blundering beast? she hisses. What the hell is wrong with you?

Me: OK. about a nice cup of vinegar? You like vinegar.

High Priestess: Too little too late. You should have done that in the first place. <she looks away, arms folded>

Me: I can't fix it if I don't even know what I did wrong.

High Priestess: You've known me for forty years. Forty years, yet you don't know me at all.

Me: Shit. I'm sorry. You're just so...complicated. I can't read your mind.

High Priestess: Well, until you figure it out, I guess you just need to stay away from me.

She then hangs the "Keep out" sign on the front door, slams it, and we don't speak for another week. She starts the rebuilding process - AGAIN. I want to remind her of Katrina, but I don't want to piss her off any worse than I already have. The cities slowly go back up and all the critters find their balance once more. There will be peaceful days to come before all hell breaks loose again three months down the road, again, for no apparent reason.

The vagina has a lot of high expectations and lofty requirements that I have yet to understand. Just when I think all is right in the world, she flips the script. The truth is, after all these years, I still can't figure that bitch out. I don't know anything about the proper care and feeding of vaginas. Or maybe it's just that mine is particularly bitchy, because, like me, she's doesn't like who she got partnered up with. I can understand the frustration.

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