See, I'm a talker. Some consider this a character flaw. I seem to need to talk my way through all kinds of things. I say things out loud in an effort to gain better understanding. I do not wait until I am sure of something to speak. I just speak. Sometimes very off the cuff, I say what makes sense to me in the moment. Most of the time I have no idea how I feel about something, I am still working that out. In the meantime, my mouth keeps moving, rarely even stopping to think about how what I am saying might sound to those around me. Sometimes these things are shocking or unexpected and make people uncomfortable. I'm sorry if I make you uncomfortable BUT I don't want to filter my speech or process these things differently or monitor your feelings about this or (and most important of all) feel shame for what I say. I am trying to embrace the talker in me. I own my words and I will say what I want. It doesn't mean because I say something that I will ACT on it or even be inappropriate as my words sometimes are. They are WORDS. I act out with what I say in an effort to understand how I feel. This is my process. It's the way I do it. You can take it and do with it what you like. It may mean that, as a consequence, you may not like what I say and (Oh, this is harder for me than you will EVER know) you may not even like me. But for today and for right now, I don't care. Because, if you know me and love me, you will take the time to look past this, deeper for what is really true for me.
And just like Howard Stern, George Carlin and many others push at the boundaries with their words, sometimes, so do I. The difference is, not as many people listen to me or care about what I say. Can you handle this?
It all started with this post which is a hoot. Well, most of what she writes over there is a hoot. As in: laugh out loud, co-workers staring at me, tears streaming down my face, try to control the snorting, funny. But this post, in addition to making me laugh, struck a cord. It was funny, but insightful too. Thought provoking. As in, I wanted to talk about this. First of all, it had really never occurred to me (at least in the way it occurred to her in kind of an obsessive way) to wonder about this issue. I am surprised (since I can be a wee bit obsessive, yes ONLY a wee bit) that I had never fixated on this issue myself. And folks, I have issues. Issues with my body, self esteem, being likable, being attractive etc, etc, etc. Maybe I was shocked that THIS wasn't one of them. Or was it? Had I ever even wondered about this? I don't know! I think it has crossed my mind on at least one occasion. But I've never had nightmares about it.
So, I began to wonder: Am I the only girl who HASN'T obsessed about the appearance of her vagina? Maybe everyone secretly had these feelings, and I was just not that self-aware. Or maybe the majority doesn't worry about such things, and in that case, I wondered, why didn't they worry more about this? After all, wouldn't it be surprising if most women (who obsess regularly about appearance in general) were NOT concerned about this? Leave it to girls to "worry" about such a thing as "Are my lady parts cute enough?". You would never hear a guy ask: "Does my schlong look cute?" Oh yeah, I almost forgot, you boys NEVER use those two words in the same sentence (cute and your rod)!! Let me rephrase: "Does my pecker look Good? Handsome? Manley? Attractive?" Oh yeah, we all know that you obsess about the size, and in comparison, women too worry about the tightness of our, eh hem, kitties. But appearance????
So yes, I laughed at her worry and then crinkled my brow and in a very thoughtful moment wondered "Is my cooter cute....?" And so started the Cooter Cuteness Conversation that got me in HUGE trouble. And actually, the trouble only furthers my desire to say the word cooter to anyone and everyone who would give me an audience. So here I am.
Cooter, Cooter, Cooter. My lovely lady parts! Yeah! How do you like them apples? Or more importantly: How do you like MY APPLES? OK, but seriously, not that many people have seen my who-ha, so it's not like I can take a poll. I asked the only person who was in my vicinity that would know (The Alaskan) if he thought my cooter was cute. "Of course, babe, sunshine and butterfly, the heavens open and the angles sing when you spread your legs. It's practically a religious experience." What else is he gonna say? Well honey, yeah, your pee-pee is ugly. U-G-L-Y (you ain't got no alibi) it's UGLY! Yeah right! Not if he ever hoped to partake in my peach again. Because, of course, by asking him I didn't expect to get an objective opinion. I knew (and wanted) his response. I wanted to be pacified here. To be told: "Of course it's cute!" Knowing full well it didn't matter, that if my coochie wasn't "doing it's job", cute or not, that we wouldn't have made it this far. But his oh so appropriate response to my playful topic of conversation isn't my issue, it was his discomfort with the subject matter: My PRIVATE Parts. Or should I say: his discomfort with me speaking about it in mixed company. After all, they should be private (MY PRIVATE PARTS)! See, the trouble came with the fact that I happened to poke at this in the presence of The Roomie (who of course has no opinion of my nether region having never made its acquaintance) but none the less laughed right along. And I persisted, giggling all the way, and kept right on poking at this, talking about cooter cuteness and MY PRIVATE PARTS in a not so private way.
Why you might ask was I stuck on this topic? I think I was just wanting to know: do guys really evaluate a girl by the appearance of her "stuff"? This shouldn't have been so hard to get at, I'm thinking. What was so difficult about me asking them this? Could have been that the more uncomfortable he got, the more I pushed. Could also have been the word cooter (I admit I LOVE the way it sounds coming out of my mouth) was in every sentence. I only wish now I had a more expanded repertoire of ways to refer to my vagina (I'll have to break out that episode to The L Word and watch very slowly and make notes for future use). But I'm sure he flinched every time I said cooter. Why Oh Why? I don't flinch every time there is talk about "Dropping the kids off at the pool." Or when they so vividly describe the smell coming out of their "rotting pumpkin" ass? Oh yes, and I smile (only rolling my eyes when he isn't looking) at this juvenile humor. Boys, after all, will be boys.
But I guess us girls aren't suppose to talk this way.
So, after a period of time, knowing there was no shutting me up, he went inside and got ready for bed. He was miffed. And I'm having a hard time being sensitive to his feelings. I want to be able to say what I want. And after this morning's harsh words, I was sulking when he dropped me off at work, and I told him (in my not so nice I'm-a-big-girl-and-I-will-do-whatever-I-want voice) that I would be asking everyone all the way down the hall on the way to my desk about MY COOTER! Surprise, surprise, he didn't like that as he sped away. Yes, not so "Big Girl" of me, I admit. Feck, I wish I wasn't so feisty sometimes and my mouth would just stay shut.
OK, no I don't.
Yeah, I know, I'm a talker. And that's what we "talkers" do. And I like that. Just try to shut me up! I didn't ask everyone down the hall this morning, BUT I did tell all the "helpies" about my troubles with talking too much about my cooter. Can't stop the mouth, you see. They smiled and some laughed and even sympathized. But I still don't feel better. So here I am blogging about this, writing down these thoughts and words to put out there in a VERY public way (another thing HE HATES! That I put this out there for anyone to read, even though I'm sure NO ONE reads this right? Anyone? Anyone? No. Thought so.) Oh, when he reads this (and he will!) Yikes.
I know the Alaskan has feelings about what I share and with who. He feels some things should just be between us, there are lines you just don't cross. And the issue with this lies in the fact that we don't agree on where that line is. I'm a pretty open person. Not that I hang my punani out for all to see (and judge). I'm not that open (or brave). It's not that I, too, don't have a line. Because I do. But when the boundaries aren't the same, how do we come to an agreement? How do I hold close to my autonomy while honoring his values? How do I not just defer to appease? Because when I defer I lose my sense of self and I feel bad about who I am. Like a child scolded, I believe I am expected to relinquish and assume that I am doing something wrong. When in fact, I am an adult and entitled to my opinion, and my words. But I can't help it: who's right and who's wrong. That is what it always comes down to. He's stubborn and I am at the very least defiant. So, I can't help but remember a quote from a Big Dog t- shirt that says:
If I agreed with you, then we'd both be wrong.
So there it is. My inner child (cooter) needing to be reassured that I am right (cute).
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