Should we reconstruct our vaginas or simply steam them on the regular?
More importantly, is it still a vagina or should I be calling it a vulva? I read a handful of seemingly adult humans—or maybe adult is an outdated term since we are all just children-at-heart adulting while striving for our daily steps circle on our watches— arguing on Twitter about vagina vs. vulva.
It was a lesson in going right over the freaking edge that branched off into mansplaining and a litany of other -ings. I honestly lost track. People, mid-day, calling one another everything under the sun in an effort to be right. It’s a vagina. No, it’s a vulva. Quickly escalated into “You’re a loser and everything wrong with the country.”
I wanted to comment that both words work. True the vagina is the inside part, and the vulva is the whole business, but we recognize vagina as all the bits too. In the end, I didn’t comment because doctors joined the discussion and people credentialing in all-caps. There were insults and horrible exchanges to the point that I went back to recheck they were, in fact, still discussing vaginas because it seemed way deeper. Ha! Pun not intended, but super and I’m leaving it.
I don’t comment on Twitter unless I am agreeing or trying to be funny. The fear is real. We often leave one seat between us at the movie theatre and rarely even speak to strangers anymore, because it’s… confrontational, a trigger, an invasion of space, privacy, you name it, but we will disembowel a person behind a keyboard on Twitter.
The frantic discourse is no longer conservative or liberal. The crazy is no longer contained to some manifesto in a backwoods shed. The usual boxes are overflowing. All of them, on every side, filled with nastiness. Even off-the-grid, pescatarians, who are fruit-based and plant-centric can get crabby. Yogis, only-adopt-dogs, sugar-is-evil, and #mendon’tshaveforus commenters lose all mantras under the stress of the other birds in the nest.
Some wise soul said that Twitter was the dumpster fire of the internet. I laughed. It’s accurate, but unfortunately, there are other fires burning all over, most of them just as zany, just as cruel.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Buckwheat Pillow.
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