Second Chance Idol Week 2: Echo Chamber
Listen, I’m not good at this whole dating thing. I know you like my pictures and think my quotes from The Office prove that we have the same sense of humor, but I must warn you - there’s more to me than meets the eye.
I know, every woman says that these days. And it’s true. We’re all onions with layers and layers. Yes, I prefer onions to snowflakes, because the Right has ruined that term for me completely.
Wait, you didn’t vote for Trump, did you? Phew, that’s good. Saved us a bunch of time right from the start.
But back to what I was saying... I’m an onion. When you peel back my layers - and in my case, clothes - you might be in for a shock.
What? No, I'm not talking about my curves, but thank you. I'm glad you like a little cushion even though that's not what I'm talking about. Glad to hear you're willing to date girls like me, I guess? Anyway, back to my point.
It’s 2020 and I should just talk about it openly. Deep breath.
My vagina talks.
Don’t laugh. I’m telling you the truth because if I didn’t tell you, she certainly would. She speaks her mind - err, does she have a mind? I don’t know, I guess that would mean my vagina has a brain in addition to a mouth and— why are you laughing? You think I’m flirting with you? This is a pretty weird way to flirt if you ask me, but at least you don’t think I’ve lost my marbles yet.
Alright, so let me set this up for you. My ex was a terrible lover. Just awful. He wasn’t a bad man, per se, I could always count on him to give me his pickles from his sandwiches. He didn’t like pickles, you see. But in the bedroom, he kept the pickle to himself, sadly. Two pumps and he’d finish, and he’d roll over and ask me, “Did you get off, baby?” And because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, I told him, “Oh yes, it was amazing, honey.”
Now either I’m a really good liar or he was content to roll over and fall asleep, I don’t know. But that’s what he did too. And I’d quietly get myself off next to him because I couldn’t sleep otherwise. A girl’s got needs, you know.
But then one night, after about six months of this, he finishes and asks me the age-old question. I tell him my usual line, except there’s an echo in the room.
Well not really an echo, you see... more like someone speaking at the same time as me. With my voice. Except it wasn’t me. I would never tell him his pathetic attempt at sex wouldn’t even win him a participation trophy since he wasn’t really participating in anything. No, I didn’t tell him that - my vagina did. She’d had enough, and boy was she mean as hell.
Before I knew what was happening, he was packing up his things and hustling right out of there. He never came back either.
And he wasn’t the only one. I tried hooking up on Tinder, and my vagina wasn’t having it. She has higher standards than I do, I guess, because she told my last one night stand to put his clothes back on before we even got to the sex. She just wasn’t in the mood. Said he smelled like garlic and I won’t lie - she was right. She seems to know what’s best for me, even when I don’t.
Why are you looking at me like that? I swear I’m telling the truth. Listen, I really like you. You seem like a nice guy, and I don't mean this in a "Nice Guy" trademarked sorta way. Like really nice. You’ve brought me to this great restaurant, and you gave me flowers, which is very sweet. I think she might approve of you, but I wanted to be prepared before I introduced you to Pearl - yes, I like to call her Pearl, it’s only fitting she has a name after all and—
Wait, where are you going? No, come back. I doubt she would insult you, you seem like such a good guy—
Dammit. He’s gone. Another one bites the dust. What now, Pearl?
Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right. You always know what’s best for me, and clearly if he can’t handle a little honest feedback in the bedroom, he’s not the one for me.
Sigh. Let’s scroll through Tinder again, I suppose... oh he’s cute. Says he’s a feminist too. Wonder how he’ll feel about a talking vagina? Guess we'll just have to find out.