Walking the Wall

**Warning** Don’t read any further if you are uncomfortable talking or reading about "down there" or using the "V" word.

On the way up to school Monday I listened to Eve Ensler’s Vagina Monologues. I’m not sure what I was expecting…I would say that I expected it to be a bit funny, and embarrassing, and probably vulgar. I laughed, I cried, I laughed AND cried at the same time, yes, I cringed a few times, was horrified more than once, and even rolled my eyes once or twice when it passed into the absurd. It was such an odd feeling to be horrified and laughing at the same time as I was listening to the words of a 72 year old woman as she surprised herself by talking to Ensler about "down there" (her words) even though she couldn’t believe anyone would want to talk about something that was no more use than a damp, smelly cellar. Ensler went from very real and tragic incidences of violence perpetuated on women all over the world, to listing all the amazingly varied names women call their vagina’s or listing the different cities that are vagina friendly. There was such an insane juxtaposition to hear about a 6 year old who insisted that somewhere hidden deep it had a very large brain, and then to be faced with the horrors of female genital mutilation in Africa–which is not the equivalent of male circumcision, it would be equivalent to male castration.

It was laughable to find myself pulling into my college campus and coming face to face with the water tower that stands at the entrance which bears a very striking resemblance to the male equivalent of "down there" (which I found out, while searching for a photograph, won a contest for being the most phallic building in the world, I am so proud) –all the while listening to various women’s talk about their experience with their first periods. Some how I very much doubt there will ever be a water tower in the shape of a vagina built in Ypsilanti. I was so shocked at how many people’s mothers slapped them for…what? For daring to grow up, for sadness at the loss of their little girl? I didn’t understand those reactions, I look forward to dinner and pampering with my daughter when her time comes. The monologue ended with the authors own experience of watching her grandson being born, the amazing act of giving birth. Having witnessed four of my nieces and nephews births (while I was there for my children’s, I did not have a good view!) I can attest to the absolute wonder of birth.

Listening to this monologue was a deeply moving experience and I will definitely be listening to it again–so please forgive me if in someday in the middle of a conversation I should ever happen to ask you what you call your vagina, what it would wear if you dressed it, and what would it say if it could say two words.