Botox and Jesus

I went to lunch on Saturday with my friends Suzanne and Jenny.  Don’t fucking judge me either.    I know I don’t have any money to be spending on fancy lunches because of the whole poop tank thing and that’s why I first pimped myself out to Suzanne to clean her house so that I could eat Truffle Fries and Mango Cheesecake on her bill.  And it was worth it.  I should have probably done a better job cleaning but that is what she gets for feeding me first.  She’ll learn next time. 

It doesn’t take long for our conversation to end up in the gutter.  It all started with Suzanne saying she wanted to get Botox done on her forehead and 2 hours later Jenny says the exact same thing.  What the fuck?  Seriously??  So we all start talking about where we would get Botox done on ourselves and Suzanne wants to host a Botox party in her house because you would only have to pay for the injections and not the doctor and I’m thinking that it sounds all shady and I decide I would Botox my upper lip then Jenny says “Botox your hole” and she meant my mouth but we were all thinking asshole.   What better place to try out Botox?  I mean, if you really want to see if that shit works, why not paralyze your pooper to see?  Plus, if it gets all fucked up, you just have to wear some adult diapers for a few months.  I’d rather try that first. 

It got me thinking a lot about down there.  Not about assholes, rather vaginas.  For some reason, once you have a kid, your vagina comes up in conversations more than you would think (maybe it’s just me).  Even my mom talks about my vagina which is really disturbing.  My husband, Mike, likes to say romantic things like “you could drive an 18 wheeler thru there” and “nice meat curtain”.   Today when we were out on a date he said that our first born would probably be really bad at math because his head is all crooked, probably from the hideous birth that lasted 24 hours causing severe trauma A.K.A, my vagina.  I informed Mike that he would probably be bad at math because I am bad at math and that he should keep my vagina out of it. But now that I think about it, the second kid just kind of fell out and his head is all round and perfect so maybe the first born was kind of like a pioneer and someone has to eat the poisoned berries and fight a bear so that we can build a FroYo next to the Alamo. 

This is my first born Davy Crockett.  Just kidding, look at the Gumby head though.  

(the glasses aren't his.  Just added for drama.)

Just the other night at dinner, somehow episiotomies came up and Suzanne remarked that after my 2 episiotomies my vagina tells time and it’s always 3:30 down there.   I told her that is exactly why it now has the nickname Frankenpussy.  I haven’t told my mom that though because she’s a Mormon and she doesn't even drink caffeine so saying Frankenpussy to her might kill her and then when she goes to Heaven or the planet or whatever the what Mormons go to she would have to tell Jesus that her daughter said Frankenpussy and then Jesus would be all pissed off at me and It’s not like I don’t have enough shit going on right now that I don’t need a plague frogs.  But then again, God made vagina's so  it's not like he didn't have "the talk" with Jesus about that stuff and I'm sure he's heard worse things said about vagina's anyway.