After the Michigan Pee Pee Wee Wee fiasco, I feel it necessary to say something about the absurd level to which our politics have sunk. Which made me want very much to write intelligently about the Republican War on Women by highlighting the number of newly-enacted laws having to do with limiting reproductive rights and other anti-female legislation versus laws meant to spur job growth.
After a few moments of googling, I gave up the idea of something intelligent and fact-based. Instead, I would do a very short post on the theme "It's not a war on women, you silly creatures, it's a police action."
I wanted to title it Hey, laaaaady! and add a clip of Jerry Lewis doing his Hey, Laaaaadeeeeee bit. That's how I ended up watching this and snorting with laughter.
While I might not have said what Representative Lisa Brown (D) said on the floor of any state assembly, I think the Republican decision to silence her was more than an overreaction. It was, quite frankly, ridiculous.
Let me clarify - I wouldn't say what she said for two reasons. First - I don't trust myself to know when to engage my filter. It's the same reason I've never been violent with my children. What if, once I've started, I can't stop. What would happen if I were to begin with vagina and proceed through pussy, pink taco, twat and beyond to the C word of infamy and whatever comes after?
I'll tell you what. My mother would die of shame - right there in her chair, her Inspector Lynley novel clutched in her hand. Her last words would be a declaration of ignorance. She had no idea where I learned such filth. My father would stand around looking somewhat annoyed and confused. My children would be ostracized from civil society. People would unfriend me on Facebook. I'd lose Twitter followers. Publix would never take another check from me. My doctor would refer me to someone else. I'd have a wikipedia page where people scrawled hideous things about me. Of his own good judgment and at the behest of his family, MathMan would insist that I give him back his last name, and the remaining cats would ask to be dropped at the Humane Society as I'm run out of our little village on a splintery rail.
Georgia would slam the door at the state line and lock it behind me.
The other clarification is a quibble for sure, but it matters nonetheless. While we all know what Representative Brown meant, she would have been more accurate to have said "Finally, Mr. Speaker, I'm flattered that you are all so interested in my
Aside from the technical inaccuracy, the problem with the word vagina is that it is too connected with s-e-x. It's one thing to refer to a vagina in the abstract. Most adults can deal with that, even if it makes the feel all squidgy and giggly. But when you put the possessive in front of it - my, her, their - well, now you're forcing people to make a further connection. It's no longer a sanitized cartoonish vagina like you see in an anatomy cross-section drawing.
Nope, now we're talking about a vagina that belongs to someone. To her. Or her or her. To them. To me. (Not really! I'm like a Barbie doll. Ask MathMan.)
I know men. When it's a vagina in the possessive- it's labia and clitoris, hair and skin. It's a palette of pinks, reds, purples.
It's loaded with meaning. It's curiosity bound with shame. It's lover and mother. Chaste or not. Unreachable or inviting. It's both fantasy and very, very real. It's utterly female. It's power, possession, pleasure, pain, hatred, fear, worship, disgust, and reverence. It's scent and taste.
Representative Brown made them think of her vagina and the men in that room blanched. They reacted not because half of them haven't at least once pictured her naked, but because they refuse to admit it. It may have been a passing thought during a tedious discussion about some piece of doomed legislation, but for just a second, it wasn't just a vagina, it was her vagina.
And that, according to the male Republican leadership of the Michigan State Assembly, is not up for public discussion.
Case and legs closed.
