Rhymes With Smashina

There are lots of things that make me think about my friend Jane. Drinking beer in the summer. Making snarky remarks about people from high school. Any song written by David Byrne. Oh, and the word vagina. Never before, or since, have I met anyone who loved, and used, that word so much. Even Eve Ensler would have told her to give it a rest.

Jane was not afraid to ask anyone about the state of their vagina, or discuss the status of hers. Oh, and she loved discussing what our vaginas should or should not be doing. In the weeks before my wedding she drove me absolutely nuts asking about my vaginal preparations for the big day. Was my vagina nervous? Did my vagina know what to expect? What was my vagina wearing? At one point the vagina talk got so prevalent that I told Jane if she said it one more time she was out of my wedding. She then started referring to it as my coochie. Damn semantics.

Why am I bringing this up? No, no because I am trying to horn in on the Bloggess' territory, but because of this website. And this dress. Vaginas are everywhere right now! Vaginas are the new black! Jane would have been so proud to see her pioneering vagina awareness campaign finally being played out in the mainstream press. I like to think of each of the stories as yet another vagina miracle, getting her a step closer to vagina sainthood. I mean, if that actually exists. Maybe I should write the Vatican. They really are more peniscentric though. I mean, just look at the Pope's hat.

I guess some would say it would be nicer if every time I saw a flower, or a hummingbird, I thought of Jane. What would the fun in that be though? I guess they would both be more acceptable memorial tattoos, but that's about it. And I probably wouldn't miss someone who made me think of hummingbirds or flowers near as much as I miss Jane.