I’m just going to come out and say it; I’m glad I’m not a woman. From what I see, being a woman kind of sucks.
Now hold on. Before you start flinging flaming bras at me and getting all Gloria Steinem on the horn, hear me out.
I love women. Wait, let me rephrase that, I love A woman – my wife. But I think the rest of you ladies are pretty cool too. I just would never want to BE a woman. You ladies have it rough. If it’s not the constant misogyny still rampant in society, or getting paid 25% less than men for the same work, then it’s the bullshit beauty standards placed on you by magazines, advertisers and the fashion industry.
So now that I’ve got you back on my side, torches extinguished and calls to Gloria disconnected, let me tell you the main reason why I’m glad I’m not a woman…the vagina.
That’s right, the lady garden. The area 8 inches below your belly button (give or take, I’m horrible at math). The place we all spend 9 months trying to get out of, and for a lot of men, the rest of our lives trying to get back in.
Look, vaginas are a thing of beauty, they really are. I mean, just think about it, a woman takes her pants off and it’s like the gates to some mystical landscape are opening. You half expect a harp to be playing and two of those creepy baby angels to come flying out welcoming you to the land of enchantment. The same can’t be said for the penis. That zipper comes down and it looks closer to a drunk frat boy and his two friends stumbling out of a taxi at the end of a long night partying, flopping face-first on the pavement.
But you know what, with that lack of beauty comes simplicity. That’s right, there is little-to-no penis upkeep needed. However, like any prized garden, the vagina requires a ton of maintenance. So much so, it makes my head spin.
It’s high time my fellow brethren understand, exactly how easy we have it. Maintaining the tunnel of love is hard work. But most of all, men need to understand the extreme lengths you ladies are willing to go in order to keep your lady-bit resembling a garden, instead of the Everglade swamps.
In order to get an expert opinion to quote for this post I went to the resident expert in the Preach House on all thing vagina; the Wife. Here is how the conversation went.
Me: Hey babe, can I interview you for my blog about vaginas and upkeep?
Wife: Hell no! I have to live that shit. You think I want to talk about it so you can get some yuk-yuks on your blog? You’re on your own. Go Google that shit.
Well, that went well. Seeing that I needed about 1000 more words for this damn post, I set off on my own and did my own research, and let me tell you, it wasn’t pretty. I present to you an explanation (of sorts) of vaginal maintenance and beautification, as translated by a dude.
So, let’s start with the ole #1 on the list of lack of empathy/understanding – monthly menstruation, aka Aunt Flow, Code Red, Flying the Japanese Flag, The Red Roof Inn, Leak Week, or just the plain ole period.
Monthly Period – Ruining punctuation since the beginning of time
Men, we are totally guilty of not being as understanding as we could be for this monthly occurrence. We’ve all done it. Even the most progressive man has, at least once in their life looked at a woman who was angry and thought, “Jeez, must be that time of the month.” Or heard about the pain women go through and simply brushed it off in their mind.
Preparing to receive hate mail from droves of men claiming they are so supportive that they too feel the monthly pain in 3…. 2…. 1…. let me stop you right there and call BULLSHIT!
Cramps – You can’t walk this shit off dude
Remember when you were a kid and got beaned during a little league game and your coach told you to walk it off and rub dirt on it? Yeah, it’s nothing like that – it’s actually worse. Even in all my unattractiveness, I dated a couple other women pre-Wife, so I’ve seen plenty of women experience cramps for quite some time. And they were always different; no two seemed the same. Kind of like their own red snowflake. They seemed to range from mild irritation to OH MY GOD HIT ME IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITH A BASEBALL BAT, and I highly doubt rubbing dirt on the vajay would help this situation either.
Tampons vs. Pads – You stick what, where?!?
There are many options for women to contain their fluid loss, but the most popular options are the tampon or the pad. Put yourself in your lady’s shoes for a second. Just imagine, your only two options for containing a constantly leaking dong is to shove a piece of plastic up your pee-hole only to leave a wad of cotton attached to a string, OR stuffing your drawers with a product that probably feels like having a gym sock folded in half and shoved in your jockeys all day, cradling your coin purse in all that leakage. Plus, because periods can sneak up on ladies like little red ninjas, women have to carry a drugstore amount of these items in their purse just incase shit gets real while out in public. But you know what, as bad as tampons and pads sound, there are options that are way worse.
The Menstrual Cup – It sure ain’t no dixie cup, and it ain’t no water cup neither!
It seems the green initiative has reached vagina status now. The menstrual cup is exactly what it sounds like. It’s a cup, that goes all up in the lady dugout, not to be confused with the male cup that protects the bat and balls from the outside. Another plastic device, that is……(twinge) inserted…..up…in…there, and removed when needed. Kind of gives a whole new meaning to the term “my cup runneth over.” I threw up in my mouth a little writing that last part.
Douching – Not just the official language of New Jersey
Do I really need to cover this? Don’t we all already KNOW what douching consists of? Sigh……alright, fine. Look, from what I’ve been told, the vagina, while an awesome place, is a goddamn walking bacteria factory, and sometimes that shit needs a power wash. Ok, there, I said it! However, the one thing I am still confused about is why the scent you ladies are going for is *summer’s eve*. I really think the hygiene industry is missing out on a real opportunity here, why not come out with different *flavors* if you will. Why not bacon? Just imagine how much attention your man would be giving you if your lady bits were sponsored by Oscar Mayer. You think he wants it bad now, just wait.
Vaginal Beautification – let’s spruce the old place up a little
Look, ladies, I want to be the first to tell you how much I appreciate the effort you put in to maintain and *upgrading* your sexy spot, but seriously, it’s too much. I know, I know, you might be saying, “I do this for my man. It keeps things fresh in the bedroom.” Listen, I’m going to let you in on a little secret….it doesn’t fucking matter. You offer it, we’re coming for it, no matter what it looks like. I mean, just look at chicks from the 70’s-era adult movies. They looked like they had Buckwheat from the Little Rascals in MMA-style triangle hold, and men were still knocking down the doors to get at it. So waxing and all that other shit, get out of here with that. I’m afraid when my zipper gets too close to my junk, let alone letting someone with hot wax come at me.
Steam Cleaning the Vagina – Easy on the starch there, buddy
Recently the world was graced with advice from faux-British asshole, Gwyneth Paltrow, that ladies should be *steam cleaning* their vaginas.No bullshit. Wow, I don’t even have a vagina and I want you to shut up. Seriously, this is the length some women will go to? What’s next, you gonna figure out a way to iron the ole meat curtains to keep everything clean and crisp? Excuse me if I don’t take someone seriously who A) named their kid after a piece of fruit, and B) named their website GOOP. GOOP?!? Even the name of your site sounds like your vagina is broken and has some major malfunctions. Why not just be real and name it Crotch-Snot.com? At least you’d get a little laugh out of me.
Alright, so here we are at the end of my tirade, and if you have made it this far (may God have mercy on your soul) you might be asking yourself, why the hell is this dude talking about vaginas and vaginal maintenance?
Good question, and I wish I had a good answer for you, but I don’t. But what I do have is a piece of advice – don’t ever make a bet on a football game (let alone the Super Bowl) with a fellow blogger friend, because they just might get vindictive on your ass and make you write a blog about something you have no desire talking about. Such is the case of my clown-shoe of a friend Ashley from The Malleable Mom. We bet, she won, I lost (FUCK YOU SEAHAWKS), and this was her punishment. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I hated writing it.
(This post originally ran on Papa Does Preach)
About Mike Cruse
Mike is a married father of one crazy, funny, over-the-top, beautiful toddler son. Life-long story-teller with a love for writing. Creator and lead writer at PapaDoesPreach.com. Currently still stuck in a 9-5 job, but inching closer to his dream of being a writer when he grows up, one blog post at a time. Born and raised in San Diego, CA, but now resides in Alexandria, VA. Connect with him on Facebook and on Twitter.