Innergiggler's Blog

The Tethered Vagina

Posted on: June 2, 2010

“Turn The Beat Around” peppered discos throughout New York City in the ‘70s.  Vicki Sue Robinson’s anthem pumped rhythmic madness into our hearts and bodies. 

I considered myself disco royalty because my body moved as though it was boneless.  Abandoning any”proper” restraint, I’d jump onto that dance floor fired up, shaking  that booty as if it were motorized…the velocity alone might have earned me a speeding ticket.  

It was a Thursday night in the summer of ’78, when I was temporarily de-throned.   After a vibrating session to “Shake, Shake Your Booty” I paused a moment to moisten my palate with a club soda, and  noticed people staring and pointing to my legs which was surprising since frankly, they were never really showstoppers.   Confused by the semi-gaping, I turned to a girlfriend who motioned I follow her to the Ladies Room.

“What?  I’m having a good time!” 

She pointed to my left leg and dragged me to privacy.  “Don’t “what” me!  What you!  Like in what’s that brown crap dripping down your left leg into your shoe?”

After a private deep dish investigation, I discovered there was an internal leakage.  Jetting out of the club, we considered going to the nearest Emergency Room, but I needed time to envision and plan my demise, preferring to wait until morning, if I lived that long.

Upon awakening  I called my GYN and was told he had an emergency; either I wait until the afternoon or see his partner.  Within thirty minutes I was in those stirrups.  I looked up and my heart stopped;  the partner made the current heartthrob, Robert Redford, appear more like WC Fields.  I immediately closed my eyes and pictured WC Fields as the doc began the investigation.   I felt some random instrument enter my inner sanctum then heard him sputtering and coughing, “Ucchhh!  This is too disgusting…I can’t do it!  I’m going to throw up!”  He then insisted I open my eyes.  Laughing out loud, he was waving an old tampax in the air with forceps.

“How long have you been holding on to this?  Were you saving it for a special occasion?”

I was mortified.  How rude!  And how embarrassed I felt, realizing I’d been so busy dancing and posing I’d forgotten basic tampon removal after my last period. 

Happily, the queen’s fall from grace lasted as long as it took to get to the disco that night.  Upon entering  the club, Evelyn “Champagne” King was singing “Shame” as my booty took off.

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