|new old more book profile blog rings host|
I have made an uneasy peace with "vagina." I have come to grips with "penis." But I still feel all oogly saying "genitals." There is something downright squishy about that word. Saying it is like walking across a grassy field and suddenly stepping into a sunken spot full of wet muck.
It's the damn Latin, of course. We don't want to talk about our bodies much and when we do, we want to get it over with quick. Arm, leg, foot, eye. Toe, neck, butt, knee. Now that's more like it.
It's been an issue the last few days because my nephew Rojo contracted poison oak. We're not sure how, exactly, considering that it's been almost two weeks since we took our camping trip. According to the doctor my niece consulted, boys tend to get poison oak around their eyes and around their, um, genitals. As of yesterday afternoon, it was only around his eye. By bedtime, it had turned up, you know, downstairs, a la P, delivering him into an itchy agony. So Bambi and I have had several convos featuring the G word.
Give me a good Anglo-Saxon word any day. Cunt I can say. (It used to bother me, when I was young and easily rattled, but I'm over it now.) If it were socially acceptable, I'd much rather say "cunt" than "vagina." Cunt, crotch, dick. How easy is that? Oooh, that reminds me--Duff asked me to look up the entry requirements for the Punt, Pass, & Kick competition. Better do that before I forget again.
P.S.: Still feeling warm and fuzzily grateful to Ophelia, who can reach me any old time by writing to inarticulate at diaryland.com. I was ignoring that address for a while because my spam filters weren't doing their job, but it's all better now.