A love letter to my most embarrassing friend.

Let me set the scene. It’s a Friday night. You’re in bed with your boyfriend, getting down to business to defeat the Huns buns. There is no one else in the house. It’s perfect. Perfectly quiet. Nothing is stirring, not even a mouse.*

Sounds great, right? What’s wrong with that.

What’s wrong is what didn’t happen when you had the house to yourself. Oh. No, not that. What you’re thinking of. That definitely happened. Something else.

I’ll explain it in another way. If a woman queefs in an empty house…did anybody hear it? Did it actually happen?

Now let’s change it up a bit. Picture this. It’s a Friday night and you’re in bed with your boyfriend getting down to business to defeat the buns Huns. You’re not home alone because the housemates are home.

You want to be quiet. And then your vagina decides now is the time to sing the song of its people.

Your vagina has decided that now is the perfect time to queef. Loudly. Explosively. Repeatedly. Also as if she knows that this is the worst time possible. That your housemates will think you’re horribly gassy because they can hear your fanny farts. The noise echoes around the house. It reverberates into your damn soul.

And she knows you’re not just going to walk up to people in the morning and whisper “that wasn’t a bumhole fart last night, it was a fanny fart” over your housemate’s morning coffee. They already heard everything. Do they really need the visual? They just thought you had an extra spicy burrito and now they’re imagining you fucking and tooting.

Trust me, there’s a point where you can’t keep laughing at queefs during sex because it just makes them come harder and faster but it doesn’t make you come harder and faster.

If we’re really going to examine my relationship with my vagina and get deep and personal and raw then I gotta say something. What’s with the unexpected periods? It’s just not on. That’s not the kind of surprise that I want from my vagina.

Let’s list the surprises that I’d want from my vagina-

  • A damn wax lasting a while without getting that 5 o’clock shadow.
  • No ingrown hairs ever.

That’s about it.

I’m a grown ass woman. I don’t need to be making make shift tampons out of toilet paper because I’ve been caught out and that’s the one day that I use a handbag without emergency supplies.

But you know what, I’m willing to forget and forgive because she’s always been there for me. She doesn’t mean to embarrass me. It just happens.

She’s my home girl.







*I wouldn’t say that the little guy is stirring. More pounding. But not stirring.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s