Auntie Karen occasionally has insomnia. She sleeps three hours, wakes up bright eyed and bushy tailed, and finds it impossible to go back to sleep.
When those times come – as they do when she’s beginning a new book, for some odd reason – she sighs, picks up her laptop, then turns on the TV as background noise.
She did this last night. She scrolled to Netflix, clicked on a program about lousy plastic surgery, then opened her laptop.
After working for a few minutes, she looked up from her screen to find lady parts spread over her five foot TV.
Y’all, Auntie Karen has seen porn. Auntie Karen has been known to be very cosmopolitan in her day. However, she was never concentrating on the lady or her lady parts, if you get her drift. She was more intrigued with the choo-choo, not the tunnel.
However, Auntie Karen has now seen the Labia Majora and the Labia Minora of a perfect stranger as the new plastic surgeon delicately stroked the folds of a woman whose head was not in a bag.
Evidently she wanted a perfect vagina and the first plastic surgeon screwed it up. (No pun intended.)
Auntie Karen is going to tell y’all a little secret. Most men don’t know their way around a labia major or minora and couldn’t tell you which was which. So, why did the woman want a perfect vagina? Was she going to cast it in bronze? Take pictures of it? Or, or, or plaster it all over Auntie Karen’s five foot TV at 3:00 AM?
What the pluperfect hell was this dingbat thinking to agree to spread it wide? Seriously, is there no such thing as class anymore?
Two thoughts that filtered into Auntie Karen’s wide eyed brain. At this point Auntie Karen found it very difficult to work, let alone fall back to sleep. (Visions of labias dancing in her head.)