I recently had dinner with a dear old friend and her 90-year-old grandmother. I’ve known them both for decades, and I cherish my time with both of them, but especially with Grandma, who is a font of wisdom and shockingly hip information.
Grandma was married very young and remained happily married for several decades until her husband passed away. Anyone who knows her would testify that she is one of the most independent, strong-willed, and sharp women on the planet. She has a way of expressing her passions that makes you want to look at your own life with a little more depth and live with a whole lot more integrity and zest. You may agree or not agree with her, but I think there are few that don’t have extraordinary respect for her, and many whose lives have been improved by her touching them.
She also happens to be hilarious. When she started talking to my friend and me about our duty to sexually please our men, we knew we were in for a good time. First, she told us that every woman has to fake it some time. She warned, "You can't expect them to go 'plumbing around' for hours on end." My friend and I have been blessed with never having to fake it, so we noted it for the future - just in case, God forbid. The next story, though, made us question our vaginas.
Grandma launched into the story of how she and her group of new mom friends in a small conservative town all got together regularly to stay on top of all things mom and wife related. As a group they had ordered a device from a magazine that promised to shrink the size of post-baby birthing vaginas.
When the implement arrived, everyone was alerted and they gathered at one mom’s house. One by one, each woman took leave into the bathroom to use the magic tool. Once inserted, it caused the muscles to contract in such a way as to “exercise” them, and thus reshape, resize, and return to normal confines their vaginal walls. The device was then washed off and readied for the next mom.
My friend and I were clearly shocked and laughed so hard that Grandma rose to meet our dismay with a loud admonishment: "You cannot expect a man to be faithful to you if you have a vagina the size of Grand Central Station."
She then told us that in her mother’s time, ladies would pack up their own lovely linens and beautiful bed clothes and whisk away for a brief hospital stay. Yes, folks, even way back in the day they had plastic surgery for vaginas! We were conjecturing how crude it must have been compared to what is available from the fancy doctors of our day, but at least they had fine linen and looked pretty.
I’ve never had children, but even I was left worried about my size. Then I started wondering why the men who are less endowed don’t meet at the club house to try enlargement devices. But, no, it’s up to women to manage the size of their train stations and how well the trains fit therein.
My Lazy Woman answer to this issue: find the right sized train, and leave the station alone!