January 13, 2009

If Only I Were an Oyster

Yesterday I had an important meeting after business hours and I wanted to look professional. No baggy pants without panties. I wore a sharp pair of gray, fitted dress pants and a button down shirt. Naturally, with pants that fit, I need to wear panties.

The ensemble didn't bother me for most of the day, but by 7:00 pm when I headed home I became acutely aware that something was wrong.

I smiled my way through a lovely dinner that my fiance prepared. As soon as I finished washing the dishes, I had to excuse myself to take a look at my lady flaps.

To call a vag a clam or an oyster seems rather accurate, at least in my case. In nature, a pearl is created when a grain of sand or some other foreign matter enters the oyster and causes irritation. In response to the discomfort, the oyster coats the foreign invader with layers of mother of pearl to make it less abrasive. In the end, a beautiful pearl is formed.

When foreign matter becomes lodged in the folds of my oyster, the skin becomes inflamed and eventually the skin tries to heal over the invader to eliminate the discomfort. What I find are essentially pearls of sloughed skin deep in tiny craters that have formed around previous irritation. This is totally gross, but picture acne scars on your silk flower.

If a cranky oyster could just expel the foreign material, there would be no pain, and of course, not pearls.

Good news for me, bad news for anyone who loves pearls.

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