Saturday, January 9, 2010

Good luck with your vagina , my dear.

That's probably what I would title my autobiography if I ever wrote one.
And one's all I'd need to write, because with such a title, one's all that would sell.

Do you play that game? Name your autobiography?
My title can vary from day to day depending on what's happening within and without me.

Hell Boy once told me that his might be, "Happy landings, cunt." but never went on to elaborate as to how he arrived at that mantra.

Now, I've never considered that I need luck with any part of my body, oh, okay, my feet, but one day when I was working in retail, a lady took her leave of me by saying, "Good luck with your vagina, my dear."

After saying, "Well thank you very much," I hastened out the back to make a soothing cup of tea just to give myself those precious couple of moments to figure out how a stranger could feel comfortable enough within 10 minutes of meeting me to say that, and how I could think that that was not only reasonable, but polite.
Is that normal?

I've really given this some serious thought. Like maybe 3-5 years of serious thought, and so far, all I can put it down to is being Australian.

I have noticed that Australians, by and large, are chatters.
Travelling showed me absolutely that this is not the case globally.

I suppose that even in the crowded cities, Aussies are more open than most.
Curious too.
And willing to share personal information and intimate details with total strangers with precious little encouragement.

So, when I met this lovely lady, I think the conversation went something like,

Me: "Cool earrings."

Her: "Thanks, I made them myself. I couldn't find anything to match these shoes."

"I hate that, but it should never stop you buying interesting shoes."

"No. I'd rather be dead than boring."


Then suddenly she went straight into a detailed and terrifying tale about her reproductive health, which worried me not, as I honestly believe I've heard it all. And what I haven't heard, I've seen.
I empathised with her, gave her all the necessary sensible and effective suggestions for a total recovery and told her I hoped it would be up and running soon. wink wink

Transaction complete.

Then as she left, she turned just outside the very crowded store, which was blessed with excellent acoustics, and bellowed, "Good luck with your vagina, my dear!"

Good luck indeed.


gretchenaro said...

Good to see you writing again. I find it terribly difficult to find posts like yours that aren't yours.

As for the title of my memoirs, I can't believe I've never considered this before. I could use what I want on my gravestone if I have such a thing, "Nobody gets me."

Anonymous said...

I would buy a book called 'Good luck with your vagina, my dear'. It's an awesome title, and I think it will be my new farewell. Might try it out at work this afternoon.