Speaking for myself, I’ve never met a woman who recalled a childhood memory exuding joy about peeing. As a teenager, one late night, stoned out’ my fuckin’ noggin, I peed downhill and watched the stream, wondering how many ants were drowning. That was cool, or so I thought.
Most of us weren’t aware of our fluffin’ muffins until the day we accidentally pushed the button that led to an unexpected eruption of sensations coursing through our bodies, followed by an oompha kind of sound, and clutching anything within reach due to buckling knees.
Of course, when menstruation commenced, our beavers morphed into monthly massacres. For those of us lucky enough to be gifted with cramps, we felt like angry midgets with cleavers were attacking our wombs. What fun!
Being Jewish, when I got my first period, there was an uproar of laughter and happy tears, kind of like Vagina Year’s Eve. Instead of the kiss at midnight, I got slapped (lovingly). A Schwartz Jewish tradition, to ward off the evil eye. Though I didn’t know what the evil eye was, even to this day, I’d pass on the tradition, even though at the time; please, it was a shame buffet. In hindsight, it was quite beautiful.
While sitting on the toilet bleeding out and learning to use menstrual products — wait for it — my parents – yes, my parents discussed sex with me.
Sit with that for a beat.
For those of us whose parents gave us a robust sex education, Baruch Ha’Shem.
Unfortunately, I know too many women who were raised to believe their vagina’s were the devil’s workshop. If used improperly, you know, like playing with your lady business, or allowing arousal juices to flow in your down there, or even thinking of, dare I write it, sex out of wedlock, a chastity belt would have been a gift versus being ostracized from your family. Then again, who wouldn’t want to run far and fast from a family like that? Still. Family is family. I can’t imagine being faced with that type of adversity. I empathize with anyone who has, is or will.
Back to the topic at hand, vadgeversation, suddenly adulthood set in. We’re women with vagina’s. What kind of women will we be?
- Drag Kings?
- Dames with Creepy Chick Syndrome. You know the type, “I’m going to tell him I’m pregnant, so he’ll marry me.” Way to go! Who doesn’t want to be in an unrequited love relationship?!
- Will we be women who intellectualize, over analyze and don’t allow ourselves to feel our way through relationships?
- Will we be overly emotional?
- Will we view relationships as success and failures versus experiences that shaped who we are?
- Will we have that perfect blend of intellect and emotion?
- Will we love and respect our partners and expect the same in return?
- Will we fall prey to low self-esteem and self-loathing (is this a bad thing? I’m still on the fence with it.)
- Will we be selfish?
- Will we be nurturing?
- Will we love ourselves enough to state our needs and understand that we are as important as our partner is?
- Will we be career driven and find time to maintain a healthy relationship?
- Will we sacrifice our identities, making ourselves small to ensure our partner feel bigger and better about themselves?
- Will we understand the difference between healtyh needs and neediness?
- Will we have the wisdom to differentiate between sacrifice and compromise?
What kind of woman are you? Men, what kind of women resonate with you?
Ga’head – let’s dish.