I have a friend. She shall remain nameless, but mostly because she's not really a friend and I kind of already forgot her name. Wow, I meet the most random people.
Anyway, this "friend" has an inflamed labia, and don't ask me how I know this because I can ASSURE you that I didn't set fire to her crotch this time, nor did I go down there with a periscope after seeing smoke escaping from her pants zipper.
No, no - this random "friend" just kind of told me about her giant, puffy labia. I must have been wearing my "Ask me about VD" t-shirt. Or something.
Being the over-prepared psychopath that I be, I happened to have a little tube of vaginal relief cream with me, which I handed over after assuring her that I never double-dip with that kind of product, so she could feel free to soothe her vaginal folds while - at the same time - soothing the part of her mind that might rebel against the idea of smearing those vaginal folds with someone else's used tube of cream.
Then, being the empathetic, over-involved psychopath that I be, I ran to my blog archives to find any and all references to the word "labia" so that I could pass those posts along to her, thereby turning her itchy discomfort into puddles of laughter and gratitude. And also because I'm an attention whore.
I was horrified beyond belief when I discovered only TWO references to "labia" in my entire blog archives, which include over four hundred raucously inappropriate odes to blow jobs, dwarfs, pornography, cold sores, depression, Jesus-bashing and diarrhea.
So I'm doing what any self-respecting woman would do. I'm upping my "labia" numbers.
Here's a question: What the fuck are labias for, anyway? It's like god decided to slap some flags on the world's most visited cave so that tourists wouldn't get lost on the way. If you ask me, labias are purely decorative.
I mean...everyone knows that the clit is really the only IMPORTANT part down there. Cunt fur is the built-in friction buffer. The cervix keeps viking penile infiltrators out of the uterus and keeps babies from falling out unless, as a wise woman (Jenny McCarthy) once said, you've just given birth. Then the sex is like "throwing a hot dog down a hallway."
I'm kind of a clean freak, and my labia is an extra pair of flaps to clean, turning a perfectly sanitary treasure trove into what amounts to a dirty Sharpe's neck or an obese woman's...well, everything, from what I can smell. Or used to "can smell," to be exact.
So what the FUCK is the labia doing in my panties?
Apparently the labia is "richly supplied with blood vessels" which makes it swell up like a turkey day parade balloon any time there's hot action down there, or any time there's flaming (VD) action, and either of those puffy states mean we're walking around with a thigh butter sandwich.
Now that I think of it, I would really prefer if the clit and the labia could somehow change places. I'd be far more prone to taking long walks, and most of America would be in better physical shape, let me assure you. Guys would run around just to see all the women spontaneously 'gasm-ing at the grocery store.
Speaking of changing things up, I'd really like it if my labia were more bubble gum pink than eggplant purple. but whatever, clearly Jesus is too busy worrying about baseball training camp season to help a sister out with her wardrobe.
Which brings me back to the strange woman I helped out. She still has my tube of cream and I'm trying to decide if asking for its return would be tacky or just plain unsanitary. I'm good with one, but not both.
If this didn't make you feel better, lady, then there's nothing more I can do.
Unless you need me to scratch you. I've begun growing out my pointer fingernail just in case.