How Lovely to be a Woman

I am all about being a woman. I have never, and will never, wish to be a dude, even on days that I am bloated beyond belief or seemingly hemorrhaging pain as my uterus tries to make a break for it. I love being a woman even though I make less money than my male counterparts, and most likely always will. After all, money can't buy not having genitalia that looks like a reject from the Henson Creature Workshop. I mean, really, you can see variations of female genitals in all kinds of fine art. However, the only place you see representations of male genitals are porn and weapons. (And yes, I know there are plenty of penises in art, but they are just realistic penises, not artistic musings, and most of them are really small. Um, David, are you cold?).

While I love being a woman, I think there are limits. You know, like standing naked in the gym locker room and putting in a tampon while other people are around (true story). Or, wearing a representation of your vulva around your neck.

Really, who would wear one of these? Who is so confident about their vagina, no matter how pretty, that they are willing to wear it around their neck? I mean, I wear a necklace with the letters M.E.G on it and get questions. I can only imagine the queries one of these beauties would bring up.

Stranger: Is that an orchid?
Me: No, it's a sculpture of my labia.
Stranger: Oh.

Like I don't have enough problems with HR.

Of course, if I don't want to wear my vagina (not vajayjay, no bajingo or whatever cute name prime time wants to think up) around my neck, there are other options. The artist who makes these unique pieces also offers "uterus plushies" or "I love my vagina" mugs. I guess because a home isn't a home without a pussy -- er, a cat.

While I don't think I want to own any of these objets d'art, I will still be buying some of them. After all. Christmas is coming up, and I still haven't decided what to get Tara. I just know I want it to be something personal.