Ramble On

September 30, 2009


I can’t speak for all lady folk, but one of the most amusing, but also rare, side effects of my get out of an abortion free pass is the compulsion to clean. (Aside…I just googled this, it turns out this is one of two things: A) an unidentified trend that other women secretly experience but has not yet been the focus of a scientific study or B) a load of horse-shit that I just made up to explain my fitful and erratic cleaning habits, because Google aint got shit to say about this idea).

So anyway, tonight it was the bathroom- the undercleaned, overused bathroom. I hate cleaning the bathroom. It is absolute lowest on my totem pole of cleaning. (If I had photoshop I would totally appropriate another culture’s thunder and doodle an awesome totem pole with bathroom on the bottom, bedroom in the middle, and kitchen on top). I love cleaning kitchens! They are so wipe-able, and have minimal contact with naked bits – unless you like to do it in the kitchen, in which case I would put cleaning your kitchen at the bottom of my totem pole -ZING!.

Anyhoodle, as I was scrubbing my toilet, I realized that cleaning is the pooping of life – unattractive and awkward as hell. Anytime I get nervous around someone I just imagine them pooing and I internally giggle, sometimes externally if I’m particularly amusing to myself that day. Needless to say, I am very excited to add cleaning the toilet to that exercise. Sure, some people probably hire someone else to do this chore, particularly the prissy girls on the subway in their Tory Burch shoes, and leggings, and ironed “tunics” carrying their Louis Vuitton bags, but in my head that reality may as well not exist. And Miss Priss can be on her knees, elbow deep in a toilet, Cinderella-ing her heart out all the live long day if I want her to, and frankly – I want her to.

Which is all to say, that sometime, in the near future, I expect to bleed from my vagina. Story of my non-pregnant life.

The End.

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