The Vulva Revolva

Unlike the day before yesterday, when I was consumed with penis enmity, I find myself considering the Heavenly Gates, the Shining Path, the Portal of Iniquity – that is, the vulva. Actually, vulvae in general. I think we should dive right in.

Vulvae have reared their wrinkled beaks all through history. It’s said that women of means of the Nile Delta some four grand years ago invented the concept of lipstick by painting their (face) lips with red vegetable dye so as to make their lips look more like those other lips – engorged and ready for adventure, so sayeth Desmond Morris. Early advertising at its best, I think. The truth is probably more like older women wanted their lips to look like those of nubile young women, which would be redder and fuller and so, dyed them. Being that there are no surviving copies of Vogue from that era, we may never know.

Painted or unfinished, the vulva seem to get short shrift in the service department. Penny, penny, where’s the penny is the game of finding the clitoris and why that has to be such a mystery I’ll never know. Just because women need to be excessively obtuse, I guess. And, of course, the Pleasure Palace itself, the Canal of Satisfaction. But, who here among us spends countless hours spit-shining those delicate petals of lust? Not, I, he said. Nor I, said another onlooker. So, why?

Time. Time is short. Pick up the kids from soccer practice, get home to make dinner, watch 48 Hours and Bridezilla and then, try to get hubby erect. Now where in that busy schedule is there the time for labia lappin’? It’s a luxury we simply don’t have the time or energy to pursue. Not to mention all that goddamned hair. Someone have a toothpick? And a dish of pineapple chunks?

Further, vulvae don’t have, but need, their very own PR team. “Vulva – it’s the other red meat.” How about, “Got Vulva?” with a current Hollywood hunk sporting a moist mustache of implicit origin. “when it’s time to relax, one thing stands clear (don’t have no fear . . .) Vulva tastes real good and keeps ya light . . .” Maybe “Easy to find . . . easy to love,” for the clit-challenged. “Pink – it’s the new black!” There could be Vulva Day at your local pro ball park. Vulva Support groups. Vulva Pilates! The list goes on and on . . .

But, alas, I believe vulvae are destined to be overlooked rather than idealized. Which is too bad, considering that without them, and without form-fitting garments, camel-toe would be a sorely missed sight. Shucks – why else should I watch women’s pro beach volleyball?

For my part, the next vulva I am near enough to touch, and that isn’t attached to someone who has a court-issued restraining order against me, will receive my fullest attention. At least until I can get to the good stuff.

Next time . . . the Mons Pubis!