Because neither the internet nor myself believe(s) in privacy...

Guess who just found a journal entry while browsing about her old email? This guy! Sorry in advance to everyone who feels uncomfortable with the word vagina, cuz you're about to experience a day in the life of mine circa June 2009. Enjoy!

It's worth mentioning that this document was labeled "Why not to tell your mother jack." I couldn't remember who Jack was, so I decided to investigate. Shortly thereafter, I learned that there was no Jack, but rather jack shiitake mushrooms.

Two days ago, I discovered a bump on the outer gate of my lady garden. Concerned, I mentioned to my mother that I might be growing a tumor. Although I wouldn’t consider myself a hypochondriac, I would consider cancer “just my luck.” Mom, seemingly unconvinced, insisted that my mysterious lump was “probably just an ingrown hair or something.” And while she first showed indifference to my peeved-off pore, it soon became her favorite subject, especially while in the company of others. 

Today is Saturday. My mother and I have discussed my “situation” at least four times already. It is three o’ clock.

Our last conversation sounded as such:

Mom: “JESS, COME HERE. I HAVE SOMETHING YOU CAN PUT ON YOUR-.”

Me: “MOM, STOP.”

When I reached the top of the stairs, she’d adjusted to her inside voice, your average outside voice. 
- “It is still there, right?”

- “Yes.”

- “Well, in a few seconds, maybe go dab a little of this on.”

- “Mom, Look. I appreciate the offer, but I refuse to ‘dab’ anything on my business.”

- “This is the stuff I use on my pre-cancer marks. It’s great. Pulls the stuff straight out of your-.”

- “Mom.”
I wasn’t interested in pulling anything out of my vagina, whether it be white rabbits or bacteria.

- “It isn’t in your vagina is it?”

- “No, I told you. It’s on the outer lip of my...” I stopped.

- “Well, you know, there are two sets of lips to a vagina. Is it on the labia min-.”

- “MOM, STOP. I REFUSE TO CARRY ON THIS DISCUSSION. ESPECIALLY NOT WHEN DAD IS SITTING RIGHT AROUND THE FU-.”

- “Exactly,” my dad chimed from the den.

- “dging corner.” 

I applied the salve later that night.