Brooklyn and I were having our regular girly, whiny text session one Sunday evening when the subject of sex and the holidays came up. It was inevitable I suppose. I’m alone. She’s alone. Its cuffing season and it’s cold. The whining about cuddling up in front of a fire or tv or movie screen with some one of the opposite sex was about to come up eventually. And….so was sex.
When you are married, sex is never an issue unless he/she is repulsive, there are multiple children, or he/she is broken somehow. When you are single, things get tricky. When do you have sex? And who do you have sex with? And what the hell do you do with your vagina?! (Note: I am a virgin, so this does not apply to me, but it applies for those people who are not 35 year old virgins)
Steve Harvey says 90 days at least. But what if he is extremely hot and (or) you are completely drunk? What if it’s winter time and you are lonely? What if he buys you lunch? What if just a nice guy holding the door open for you at the dry cleaner? What if you are both fat and flawed? Is it ok then?
And then there is the vagina. The perfect line on the subject comes from Scandal when Mellie tells Fitz that she “gave up waxing and it’s like 1976 down there”. Just like our legs and underarms in the winter (when we can hide behind tights/pants/sweaters), when there’s no Action Jackson happening the vagina gets a little vacay too…right? So you decide it’s time to Action Jackson with the door-holder-opener guy at the dry cleaner. What do you do with your vacationing vagina? Do you strip it clean? Do you bedazzle it? Do you make furry designs? And (a little off subject) do the wax people see your whole jay? I don’t even like my o.b. down there poking around let alone some perky spa lady.
Once you finally decide to Action Jackson with the dry cleaner guy and show your sparkly jay off, what do you wear? Do you go all Fredericks of Hollywood or nerdy night gown? Does he go to your place or his?
As you can clearly see, I have no answers…just questions (being a virgin n all)…and when Brooklyn and I were trying to sort through the fray, we both ended up with a headache. It’s too confusing to figure out and it’s too clumsy of a thing to iron out in the moment. I threw my hands up in the air and informed her that it was all just too much trouble. Eat pie instead–it won’t call you later or bug you to death.