I don't know quite what to say. The Vagina Monologues were a hit with my friends, my parents and Liam. And the seminary community seemed to like them quite a bit. My monologue was the first one on and I was more nervous than I expected to be. People said they didn't notice it, but the first night I could feel my legs trembling. So the second night I did some calisthetics (sp?) backstage before I went on.

Here is my monologue just so you know what I was up to:

You cannot love a vagina unless you love hair. Many people do not love hair. My first and only husband hated hair. He said it was cluttered and dirty. He made me shave my vagina. It looked puffy and exposed and like a little girl. This excited him. When he made love to me my vagina felt the way a beard must feel. It felt good to rub it and painful. Like scratching a mosquito bite. It felt like it was on fire. There were screaming red bumps.

I refused to shave it again. Then my husband had an affair. When we went to marital therapy, he said he screwed around because I wouldn’t please him sexually. I wouldn’t shave my vagina. The therapist has a German accent and gasped (gasp) between sentences (gasp) to show her empathy. She asked me why I didn’t want to please my husband. I told her I thought it was weird. I felt little when my hair was gone down there and I couldn’t help talking in a baby voice and the skin got irritated and even calamine lotion wouldn’t help it. She told me marriage was a compromise.

I asked her if shaving my vagina would stop him from screwing around. I asked her if she had many cases like this before. She said that questions diluted the process. I needed to jump in. She was sure it was a good beginning.

This time, when we got home, he got to shave my vagina. It was like a therapy bonus prize. He clipped it a few times and there was a little blood in the bathtub. He didn’t even notice it cause he was so happy shaving me. Then, later, when my husband was pressing against me, I could feel his spiky sharpness sticking into me, my naked puffy vagina. There was no protection. There was not fluff.

I realised then that hair is there for a reason – it’s the leaf around the flower, the lawn around the house. You have to love hair in order to love the vagina. You can’t pick the parts you want. And besides, my husband never stopped screwing around.



I felt so enlivened by participating in this. It is so important even for the people it offends. There is just so much good stuff on this campus. I can complain all I want, but students really care about conversation around hard issues. I went to another awesome anti-racism workshop where this girl who I have just had all this peculiar animosity towards was in my small group for like 2 hours. And realizing what a genuine and compassionate person she was made me want to befriend her and confess to her that I really hadn't given her a fair shot during these six months that she was in Li's life but not mine here because I didn't want her to be until now. Honesty with her felt really great. In addition, tomorrow a whole bunch of students are wearing these bright red t-shirts around campus and to class that just say "Gay? Fine By Me" to show solidarity with questioning students and sort of advertise ourselves as safe space. And even on top of THAT, this week I have been to two different events helping women work through their questions about being in ministry because it really is a recent phenomenon. This place feeds me, it really does. I just sometimes need discernment about how much to let myself get into.

Oh, and I am so very in love with Liam. ;-)