My face must be wrinkle free, despite forty-three years soaking up sun on this planet. My tits need to be full and perky, even though two children sucked them dry. My ass should be round and tight like a ripe peach regardless of gravity and lack of lunges. My body and face are expected to be hairless and flawless, my toes perfectly polished on the end of callous-free feet. And then I open a magazine and find out I’ve been evidently neglectful of another area: my vaheina.
What. The. Fuck.
And here I thought the three R’s were Reduce, Reuse, Recycle.
I get it to some degree. Childbirth can shred your junk, resulting in genuine insecurity and embarrassment. Sure. Get that shit fixed if you feel you need to.
Maybe I’d be more concerned if my hoo-ha was being featured in Lady Gardens magazine. Or if I fear I’ll accidently show it to my chiropractor again. Until then, I’m good.
But hymenoplasty? Who wants their hymen back? Maybe I’m missing something…please explain this to me. If it’s fo real, I’ll put it on my Christmas list.
And G-spot shots? A SHOT. IN MAH VAG.
How could this possibly be worth a needle in my situation? So I looked it up. The shot (hyaluronan, a collagen based filler) claims to make the G-spot area larger for more frequent and intense multiple and/or spontaneous orgasms. I admit, that’s intriguing. Supposedly, it’s a painless procedure (said a man, probably) which can cost up to $1,000 and lasts roughly four months. Women are doing this in droves.
Ya’ll. There are even G-spot parties. That brings a whole new meaning to, “I’ll bring the spread.”
I can’t even….
….or could I? Is the new “pamper me” splurge a mani/pedi/vagi?
Would you? Could you? Have you? Dying to hear your thoughts on this?