A few nights ago I went to keep a friend company at her shop while she was working on flower arrangements for an upcoming wedding.
I had also been promised wine.
When I arrived we nipped into the vino immediately.
I think we went about 50/50 on the bottle which led to the usual results with me; a wild freestyle dance session followed by me prancing around with a wreath of baby's breath on my head singing, "Match maker, match maker, make me a match! Find me a find, catch me a catch!"
Thankfully, the store was closed and my audience was confined to my amused friend and the occasional passing car.
But this was only the beginning of my dramatic evening.
My friend's store has a small apartment unit attached to the back of it and a nice British lass who works for the Humane Society resides there.
On that very same evening she decided to have some friends around for a BBQ.
Somehow I ended up sitting among them on her back deck.
My friend joined us and brought out a magazine article featuring a woman she knew who owned a clothing store that specialized in women who were "size 0."
In the article the woman downplayed her business sense and admitted that her father was "very wealthy."
The sole male in the group also knew the woman. He and everyone else seemed to enjoy having an eye roll over the tone of the article.
Suddenly I recalled something my friend had told me the woman. "She had her ladybits cut!" I bellowed.
My friend bulged her eyes at me in a warning to stop right there but the demon drink made me feisty and defiant.
One of the other gals mentioned a documentary I had also watched about labioplasty and this led me to make "The Sermon on the Deck."
For the next few minutes I rained down verbal brimstone on the assembled party, alternating between shaking my fist above my head and making swirling gestures around my reproductive area.
I used words like, "vuh jay jay," "lady business" and "labia minora."
I said it was abhorrent that society could make a woman feel so horrible about herself that she would feel compelled to modify the very essence of her womanhood
I believe this wholeheartedly, I just don't think it's the sort of topic you should unleash on people you've just met and who have recently eaten some luridly suggestive beef cutlets.
The girl who had seen the documentary seemed to agree with me and we talked about how part of the film had been about women having "hoo ha" casts made and displayed in a collection to show the variation of size and shape in female anatomy.
We both felt that this was an important step in showing women that there is no "normal" look and empowering them to feel secure and proud of the way they were made.
Again though, if I hadn't been sauced I definitely wouldn't have taken that particular style to express my views on the subject.
A subject I introduced while being sauced.
I don't think anyone from the gathering will ever refer to that night as "dull."
*When Kiwis say this word, it is often pronounced "dick." This is a source of endless delight to me and the NPR.
I had also been promised wine.
When I arrived we nipped into the vino immediately.
I think we went about 50/50 on the bottle which led to the usual results with me; a wild freestyle dance session followed by me prancing around with a wreath of baby's breath on my head singing, "Match maker, match maker, make me a match! Find me a find, catch me a catch!"
Thankfully, the store was closed and my audience was confined to my amused friend and the occasional passing car.
But this was only the beginning of my dramatic evening.
My friend's store has a small apartment unit attached to the back of it and a nice British lass who works for the Humane Society resides there.
On that very same evening she decided to have some friends around for a BBQ.
Somehow I ended up sitting among them on her back deck.
My friend joined us and brought out a magazine article featuring a woman she knew who owned a clothing store that specialized in women who were "size 0."
In the article the woman downplayed her business sense and admitted that her father was "very wealthy."
The sole male in the group also knew the woman. He and everyone else seemed to enjoy having an eye roll over the tone of the article.
Suddenly I recalled something my friend had told me the woman. "She had her ladybits cut!" I bellowed.
My friend bulged her eyes at me in a warning to stop right there but the demon drink made me feisty and defiant.
One of the other gals mentioned a documentary I had also watched about labioplasty and this led me to make "The Sermon on the Deck."
For the next few minutes I rained down verbal brimstone on the assembled party, alternating between shaking my fist above my head and making swirling gestures around my reproductive area.
I used words like, "vuh jay jay," "lady business" and "labia minora."
I said it was abhorrent that society could make a woman feel so horrible about herself that she would feel compelled to modify the very essence of her womanhood
I believe this wholeheartedly, I just don't think it's the sort of topic you should unleash on people you've just met and who have recently eaten some luridly suggestive beef cutlets.
The girl who had seen the documentary seemed to agree with me and we talked about how part of the film had been about women having "hoo ha" casts made and displayed in a collection to show the variation of size and shape in female anatomy.
We both felt that this was an important step in showing women that there is no "normal" look and empowering them to feel secure and proud of the way they were made.
Again though, if I hadn't been sauced I definitely wouldn't have taken that particular style to express my views on the subject.
A subject I introduced while being sauced.
I don't think anyone from the gathering will ever refer to that night as "dull."
*When Kiwis say this word, it is often pronounced "dick." This is a source of endless delight to me and the NPR.
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