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| Mean green vagine |
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My friend Kate has become a monstrous pest. Ever since I wrote about getting an IUD as my New Year’s resolution—something that generated a heap of mail by the way, either drill-team positive or vulva-clutching negative—she’s done nothing but e-mail me with this nagging incantation: “You need to get your IUD. You need to get your IUD. You need to get your IUD.” Not only that, she has appointed herself captain of the IUD Insertion Squad (which, for the record, I didn’t know had been assembled) and has even offered to buy me a really good one for my birthday. The scary mail I got from readers—torrential periods, murderous cramping, copious discharge—had me rooting through my dusty condom jar but Kate assures me the Mirena, the one she has and did endless research on, is a dream. “It lasts for five years, is more effective than sterilization and I haven’t had a period since [a gorgeous side effect for about 20 per cent of women],” she says. “But some places are weird about inserting them into ‘non-married’ women, though since it can be bad if you get an STI with an IUD.” We both love the very sound assumption that single women don’t know how to protect themselves against STIs, and married women are invulnerable to them. Sure, talk to the married female population of Africa about that old chestnut. “The insertion is easier if you’ve had a kid, but I found it rough-going for about 30 seconds,” she continues. “Afterwards, I was super crampy for a day, so just faffed around on the couch with heating pads complaining.” The one issue I’m having with the Mirena is that there is progestin in it, though a significantly lower dose than the pill. Hmmm… Nevertheless, in keeping with my Mean Green Vagine policy of 2007, I have established a more environmentally friendly method of cleaning up after the decorators. I’d promised myself eons ago I’d get a menstrual cup but rampant urinary tract infections (honestly, I’d sit on a cold lawn chair and get one, I’d take off my pants and the small breeze created by dropping them on the floor would provoke one) made them unappealing. With that all out of the way, I girded my loins and bought myself a silicone Diva Cup. Girls, this thing is the shit. While some women have trouble inserting it initially (shockingly, old Lubberly McShoverson here did not, though I made a bit of a Jackson Pollock on the bathroom floor taking it out the first time), once you get the hang of it, it is a marvel. I love it! Please consider it despite its goddess awful name and the package’s world music/cuisine/culture font. I’ve re-christened mine the I-can-go-to-an-openbar- karaoke-party-get-snotfaced-drunk-and-wake-up-12-hours-later-next-to-myfriends- Kaleb-and-Erika-in-a-strange-bed-and-not-have-blood-all-over-my-pants! Cup. It can be ordered online at www.divacup.com and I think it makes a lovely Valentine’s Day present. And here’s something else I think is nifty for Valentine’s Day: They Call Me Naughty Lola is edited by David Rose and is a compilation of personal ads from the London Review of Books. We are all whores for the wit of the English, but apparently we might want to take a few lessons from them in the art of romance too. I could spend an entire column quoting from this little gem, but for now allow me to reprint a few passages to tempt you into an utterly charming purchase: “I’d like to dedicate this advert to my mother (difficult cow, 65) who is responsible for me still being single at 36. Man. 36. Single. Held at home by years of subtle emotional abuse and at least 19 fake heart attacks.” “Meet the new me. Like the old me only less nice after three ads without any sexual intercourse. 42-year old fruitcake (F).” “I like my women the way I like my kebab. Found by surprise after a drunken night out and covered in too much tahini. Before long I’ll have discarded you on the pavement of life, but until then you’re the perfect complement to a perfect evening. Man, 32. Rarely produces winning metaphors.” As the aforementioned Kate has said, “I have laughed myself into the doggy position on more than one occasion.” Remember that kids, when you’re poking about in the shops for flavoured lubes and marabou-trimmed panties.
Got any questions for Sasha? Email: POULEDELUXE@YAHOO.COM |
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