A long while back I was talking with a girlfriend of mine about my girl parts. As usual I had been obsessing about my body in ways that normal people probably don't. I had a child, I had been sexually active in my life, and I didn't think that I looked very cute down there anymore. She was loving and supportive as usual, telling me that no one is cute down there. I had to disagree. I have seen quite a few adult movies in my day and nearly all of the girl parts were rather cute and well cared for. Mine did not look like that. Mine felt frightening and I didn't want my boyfriend at the time to think I was unappealing. She told me I was crazy and we went about our business.
A week or so later my girlfriend called me to tell me that after our conversation she took a good look at her own lady parts and decided that she, too, was looking worse than she remembered. By having a conversation with me about my own insecurity, it became one of hers. I didn't mean for that to happen, but it did. We both became obsessed with righting the injustice of our unpretty parts.
Since that time I have done a lot of research on what can be done to spruce it up a little. Advancements in surgical procedures and expertise have made getting a Guy-na makeover a 2 hour outpatient procedure. I'm sure you are rather sore and miserable afterwards, but the before and after photos I have trolled through have convinced me that I am in definite need of some nipping, tucking and plumping.
No one has ever told me anything about my body that would make me feel as if I needed surgery down there. This is about me and how I feel when I present that part of myself to the world. I really do believe I need a pretty vagina. I was talking to my gorgeous 20-something year-old friend, who happens to be a nurse, about vaginas. She has seen quite a few of them come into the ER in her career, and she told me that they pretty much all look like Carne Asada. I definitely do not want to walk around looking like I have Mexican food in my pants. That's not the vibe I'm going for down there.
I am also very aware that my bits are nowhere near as organized as they used to be. Meaning, when I was young and fresh and the world was new, I could fit my whole self into a teeny tiny Cosa Bella thong panty. Not anymore. I have to buy very specific thong panties because most are not made for older girls who have more than half a teaspoon's worth of things going on in that area. It's not okay. I like thong panties. I hate seeing panty lines and I'm sure as shit not going to have them myself. Strangely though, if I am trying to be sexy for someone, I will indeed put on regular pretty panties as I'm fairly sure I should not be exhibiting myself in a thong.
I've come to believe that when women discuss things with one another, they tend to imprint a little of whatever neuroses or insecurities they have onto each other. I never used to worry about going bald until one of my friends started losing some of her hair due to stress. I was loving and supportive, but then I would go home and stare in the mirror at my own hair. I even bought hair growth treatment and started using it. I have no idea if it helped. My stylist tells me I am not going bald at all. I don't believe her. I will show her my very obvious baldness and she shakes her head and says I am imagining it. Maybe. However, if I do indeed lose all my hair I am getting the best fucking wigs you have ever seen!
When another friend pointed out a little poochiness she had in her abdomen -which I found cute and kind of sexy - I noticed my own poochie, which I did not find cute or sexy. In fact, I asked my nurse friend what that big, hanging, belly thing was called, and she told me it's a pannis. Now I believe that I have one. I'm not even sure Spanx could help out with that kind of action.
I suppose the upside of having girlfriends to talk with about our real and perceived flaws is that not only will they love and support you and tell you that you're wrong, later that night they'll decide that they, too, have the exact same issues and then you'll be able to commiserate together.
What are friends for anyway?
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