Vagina Is A Real Word.

My friend posted this on Facebook the other day. It made me smile. It also evoked some thought. There seems to be a lot of nonsense recently over the word Vagina. In June Lisa Brown, the Democratic state representative for West Bloomfield in Michigan – was gagged (figuratively) after house Republicans took exception to her using the word.

Really?  What was she supposed to call it, her Suzy?

And what about the new Carefree commercial that’s received numerous complaints over the words “vagina” and “discharge” being used.  Really? I’ve seen commercials for pharmaceuticals describing side effects a lot more horrifying. Hello? Oily rectal discharge?

In the words of my twelve year old daughter, “Ew, just ew.”

Who are these objectionable people? It makes me want to seek them out, hide and then jump out at them yelling, “VAGINA!”

Even Anastasia Steel (aka, Fifty Shades of Grey) calls it her “sex.”  You would think someone who allows pretty much anything done to her vagina would at least call it by name.

I can understand having personal pet names for it but when it comes to describing it for public purposes could we all just agree to stick to what it is? It would save everyone a lot of confusion. But really who am I kidding, there’s no way we would all agree on a new one. The list is endless.

Vajayjay, Suzy, Muffin, Ms Pussykins, Juice Box,  Snatch, Beaver, Cookie,  Foof, Muff, Coo-Kah, Honeycup, Twat, Woo-Who and my personal favourite “Vajazzle.”

Be grateful, I could go on for days…

I admit vagina, isn’t the best sounding word. It could’ve been sweeter, softer, gentler, but I doubt women had any say back when they were naming body parts. So we all know where it came from and let’s face it, it could’ve been worse. Besides there’s nothing gentle about the vagina. I don’t know about yours, but mine has taken a beating. I mean menstrual cycles, child birth, sex, not to mention the time I fell riding a guys ten speed or more recently when I was bitten square on by a gigantic black fly.

My vagina is tough. So I don’t think it needs a prissy name.

If you own one be proud. Because as I told a male friend of mine during a friendly argument, “Vagina trumps everything.”

And it does. It always wins. Think about it.

Sex: Then and Now

Picture from

Its been said when a woman reaches her forties her sex drive increases. Without getting into details I’ve found it to be true, but I don’t know if it’s a biological thing or a psychological shift.

Sex just wasn’t fun for me when I was younger. It was serious business. I had extraordinarily high moral expectations. It was all about love and feelings. It was supposed to be magical and mean something.


In reality it was all awkward and embarrassing. I was a chubby girl with an insane fascination for bad boy musicians. Do you see the conflict here? Instead of settling for the math geeks who wanted to date me, I stood my ground insisting on a bad boy with long hair, preferably in a band with a sexy snarl who wrote music that would sing to my soul.

You can stop laughing now.

I was deep. A fat girl with standards. A rare breed.

I spent all my high school years waiting for them to realize the skinny, easy girls couldn’t satisfy them emotionally like I could. You can see how my judgement was a bit flawed.

My second year of college I lost weight. Suddenly bad boys were everywhere including one I’d had a crush on for months. I gave it the old college try but found my heart just wasn’t in it. I was still caught up in feelings and it bugged me to know he was only dating me because I was skinnier.

And that’s how I pretty much looked at every guy from then on. The problem was my judgment still didn’t match my morals. I was still attracted to the wrong guys; the difference was now they were attracted to me. Be careful what you wish for.

Somehow I always thought I was going to find that diamond in the rough, but time after time I would always end up thinking, “Would this guy be with me if I was thirty pounds heavier?”

The answer of course was a firm no. And that’s why I was never good at the one night stand. Which probably pleases my mother to pieces, but DAMN why did I have to think so much? I didn’t want to be that way. I wanted to let loose and have lots of sexual experiences but somehow my standards always got in the way of all the fun I was sure I was missing.

Of course the guys didn’t make it any easier. One time I ran into a guy I’d actually met the year before but because of circumstances our “alone time” had been interrupted. This time when alone again, he looked at me all sweet and sexy and delivered the same EXACT line he had said to me the year before. WORD FOR WORD. Of course, being who I was I had to point it out to him…this led to him making a big girly scene, which totally proved I was right and single-handedly set my head straight. I met Homer not long after.

Now I’m so grateful to be older, wiser and not so intense. My body issues are still there, but they’re my issues and have nothing to do with my relationship, except when I eat something bad and then complain for hours. So not sexy.

I’m at ease in my relationship and that makes sex better. I still have high expectations, but Homer ignores me and it all works out.

I have my regrets about not being more promiscuous, but not enough to tell my daughter to have at it when she’s ready. Sex is for the experienced, not for immature heads filled with deceptive fairy tales of what a relationship should be.

Did I mention Homer’s a drummer? Just sayin.