I Am Mad About A Thing: My Uncomfortably Crowded Vagina

I like my vagina. I think it's great. I love touching it. I'm better at it than anyone else I've ever known, in that Biblical way, if you know what I mean. (Sex. I mean sex.) I love how it looks and feels when it's perfectly waxed and smooth. It makes sex quite pleasant; it makes a bath fabulous. I'm also quite fond of the no-maintenance, full-on-natural, I'm-not-wearing-a-bathing-suit-for-many-months look.

I also happen to think what happens with my vagina and vagina-adjacent parts (henceforth, for reasons of simplicity and also because it's fun to say, "vagina") -- what I put into it, take out of it, how I treat and tend to its needs, and so on -- is my business. Between me and my vagina. It's a two-party relationship (although sometimes we bring in a third), and that's it. Just me and my vagina. And yet ...

There is national fascination with my vagina, which the Supreme Court recently decided is a constitutionally protected right. Like, if you aresointo my vagina that you actually have strong opinions about what I should and shouldn't do with it, the Court says you can stand outside my doctor's office and "counsel" me with your unsolicited opinions, even though you are not a doctor and know nothing about me or my vagina. Even though there is a law called HIPAA that protects my private medical information, including, one would think, my vagina health. All because, despite my belief that it's just between me and my vagina, the Court says otherwise. The medical treatments women seek for their vaginas are, in fact, "matters of public concern."

You'd think the oh-so-concerned public would want to take excellent care of this great national treasure I keep between my thighs. Doesn't the government have a compelling interest in keeping vaginas safe and healthy, like a national park or, I don't know, the 100 feet surrounding the Supreme Court?

Alas, no.

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