So, the other day I was just sitting here, minding my own beeswax, staring at the computer trying to get a blog started when something terrible happened… oh, and I should probably give you a brief description of what me trying to get a blog started looks like: I sit down at the computer, turn it on, realize I probably should go make some coffee and find a snack, because I like to have my reward while I’m actually doing my work, then I look in a desk drawer and see that my paperclip stash needs organizing, so I deal with that, then with all that concentration colour-coding those clips, I feel incredibly nappish, so I find a comfy spot for an inspiring 30 minutes of shut-eye. 90 minutes later, when I wake up, I plunk myself in front of the computer and I’m ready to face the blank screen and HERE WE GO! Come on baby. Words!
Me preparing to write
But the whiteness of the page makes me think there’s no time like the present to get some laundry done, I mean you can’t let that stuff slide because, well I’m not sure why it may have something to do with national security, anyway while I’m sorting unmentionables, I remember I haven’t exfoliated since who knows when, so definitely have to do that. I always feel I can think better once I’ve scraped off the last six months of skin from my face. And then with complexion glowing, I sit back down at the computer, finally ready to accept the muse and…hold that thought, I should check Facebook in case somebody I don’t know has recently eaten an excellent carrot so I enter the Bottomless Scrolling Hole and that’s when the blindsiding assault occurred Your Honour.
As I’m creeping through friends’ pages for provocative produce pics, out of nowhere I see the words Vaginal Flatulence! Wait the… what the… how the… ??? Listen, I like to think of myself as being fairly well informed, but this I have never caught ‘wind’ of. I watch CBC News Network a lot and at not once have I seen Breaking News coverage of a rampant Vaginal Flatulence outbreak anywhere!
Of course, I’m familiar with the vagina, having been connected to one my entire life, and I’m also familiar with flatulence, although as far as you and the rest of the world is concerned, I have never actually passed any gaseous vapors. I know! It’s a biological miracle! But at no time have I ever seen these two words that, quite frankly, should never be joined together, joined together. So, I’m sure it will come as no surprise to you when I say that my first thought after seeing this and regaining consciousness was What Fresh Hell is THIS??!!
You might think that’s a little dramatic, but let me just give you some personal historical context. There’s no question that, just like the lady sings in The Flower Drum Song, I Enjoy Being a Girl…mostly. Because if I’m honest, any of the paraphernalia connected to my very own vagina has been a giant pain in my entire lower lady region… literally. I’m one of those women who had severe, horrible, excruciating, abdomen searing, Why Me cramps. I have never given birth, and I’m not saying the cramps ever reached baby extracting intensity, but I’m pretty sure that some days it came close. The best way I could describe it back then was ‘I think my ovaries are trying to exit my body through my feet!’
A cute cat photo just because.
And it was like that for years until a medical saviour invented a drug that, most days, eliminated the pain. Why this individual hasn’t been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize is beyond me. When I was doubled over in agony for three, four, sometimes five days, if anybody even looked at me, I’d want to rip their throats out, if I could actually move. Think of the throats that have not been ripped out because of those little miracle pills. So, until they came along, as far as I was concerned the whole reproductive rigamarole was BS and since menopause, I can say I’m really glad that I haven’t had to think much about that area…until Facebook felt I needed to know about Vaginal Flatulence!
So I Googled once and scanned the info quickly, but I think I was still traumatized and not all of it sank in, and I don’t want to keep searching because then those algorithm geniuses will start showing me thousands of ads for the Bowflex Vaginal Flatulence Crusher!… or Tums Tunnel of Love Toot-Tamer! Anyway, from my brief moment of research it seems there can be several causes, which I won’t go into here, you can take your own chances with Google and Bowflex, but of course one is menopause, or let’s just say it, aging. What a wrinkled piñata full of surprises that can be.
Obviously, everything on the outside of my body is starting to slide to the ground. But everything on the inside is collapsing too. It’s like I’m becoming my own personal sinkhole! And I figure this has to be a big culprit. By the way, it’s also called Queefing, which is sort of cute? So dainty, so almost royal sounding. And maybe I have this already, I don’t know. Sometimes I’ll sit down, and I hear a sound, but I think it’s just someone talking to me and I have to be honest, it’s nice to have a bit of company.
But here’s the one thing we have to make sure of; Boys must never find out about this, because then they’ll all want vaginas. Can you imagine men having MULTIPLE orifices to fart out of? Picture a world where you’re all cozy in bed, floating through dreamland and he decides to fire off a Double Dutch Oven!! This is not a world I want to live in. And I guarantee I am 100% committed to taking to the ramparts right now to prevent that from happeni… oh wait a second… look at my SKIN! I need to exfoliate again!