So did my little venture cure me of being so vagina-shy? I ponder this, and decide that yeah, it kind of did. As bizarre as it was, the experience really was rather…well, empowering. For women who have never felt inhibited or shy about their bodies in the way that I have, I must sound a little strange and silly, if not flat-out stupid. But I kind of feel like for years I had my hands over my eyes, peeking between my fingers at myself. And I have finally forced my hands away and opened my eyes wide. Now that I have, well, I almost feel like I owe my vagina an apology for being so rude for so many years. My body is amazing and beautiful. And so is the body of the woman sitting behind me. And the woman pushing the coffee trolley down the aisle. I am suddenly filled with a surge of love for womankind, and I want to stand and shout for every woman on the train to go and get their vagina molded at once! Learn to Look Past Your Imperfect Body
But I do not. I decide to spare David at least that embarrassment.
Instead, I sit back and think "What on earth am I going to do with my vagina when it arrives?" I try to picture it sitting on the mantle in the living room, next to our cell phone chargers and loose change.
"Maybe we could will the sculpture down like an heirloom?" I jokingly call across to David.
He stares at me with a look of absolute horror. "Are you mad?!? Can you imagine being given your great-grandmother's vagina? Gawd!!" he shudders.
I assure him I am only kidding. No, the sculpture will definitely be a private piece of art. Likely, I will wrap it up in a pretty scarf, and tuck it into the deepest recesses of my closet. It will serve as a very unique memento of this place and time. A reminder of my body at age 33…of my wonderful fiancé's infinite patience…of the first time I was given a full introduction to a place that has always held such mystery… (My vagina, not Brighton.)
If I ever want to, I can take it down off the shelf, unwrap it from its little shroud, and give it a friendly pat.