Body Logic Marcia's Blog Think


300px-Origin-of-the-WorldSo there’s been a lot of talk about vaginas lately, ever since Lisa Brown got barred from speaking at the Michigan House of Representatives back in June.

Or should I say, Vaginas (and yeah, I’m gonna use a capital V) have been brought up by a few, while a lot of other people hold their ears and make “NANANANA NA NA” I-can’t-hear-you sounds.


What’s the problem? I posted a link on Facebook to Funny Or Die’s “Republicans, Get in My Vagina!” and guess how many folks gave it a thumbs up? One. I asked a few friends about it.

“Did you see the Vagina thing I posted?” Um, yes, sort of… (eyes downcast). “Did you click on it?” Uh, no….(subject change).

And why is that? These same folks would click on pictures of animals with sad faces, animals with angry faces, animals pretty much doing anything animals aren’t supposed to do. These same people will give me detailed retellings of their bowel issues, swear blue-streaks when a driver cuts them off, but nearly every one of them seemed suddenly shy and aghast when I said the word VAGINA out loud.

Is it because Vaginas are supposed to be private, intimate things, kept out of polite conversations and general socializing? That can’t be it, because more so than ever our Vaginas are in the news. Congress members have worked hard focusing precious time differentiating between “legitimate” rape and…well, I guess the “other kind.” Politicians have brought up and have taken stands on issues like abortion, conception, rape, and contraception, all of which happen in Vaginas. If no one wanted to talk about Vaginas, then why are so many Congress Members focused on what goes on all “up in there”? Clearly, Congress must want to bring Vaginas out of the dark and into the light.

I think I know what the problem is. I blame it all on the word: Vagina.

I mean, come on. It’s a really terrible word. It’s whiny sounding. Va-gyyyyyn-ah. For me, the word Vagina conjures up images of a prissy girl in a purple gingham dress; the kind of girl who would never play at games that would get her clothes dirty; the kind of girl who encouraged you to steal eyeliner from the Walgreens when you were eleven, and then later told her mom you were a shoplifter, and then her mom called your mom, and you got grounded while she got praised for her honesty. Of course, Vagina would never steal anything…herself. Vagina just isn’t that kind of girl.

So what else do we call our Vaginas? We do have some options already out there, but are any of them really viable replacements?

Let’s start with Pussy. Here’s my problem with Pussy: First, it’s an animal. Second, it doesn’t really have a name; it’s like a stray you’re trying to pet. Here, Pussy Pussy, you say, and it’s already twitching its tail and running away from you. Essentially, Pussy lacks a sense of self-ownership. Perhaps this may be why it’s used so often in porn.


If you think Vagina puts people off, think about Cunt. Second only to the “N” word in its ability to make people visibly cringe and physically withdraw. We don’t want a Vagina word that distances people; we want a Vagina word that brings people together! And besides that, Cunt is so harsh, so gutteral. It begs to be spoken with a Scottish accent and some flying spittle. Also, for some reason, it reminds me of a sports terms, like something you’d do in a BMX Dirt Biking competition—”Look how Johnson cunts his wheels there on the turn! That’s technique, folks!” So Cunt isn’t going to cut it.

So what else have we got?

Beaver? Please, what’s with the animal terms?

Slit or Hole? Neither of those really does much justice to Vaginas, and in fact makes them sound like accidents of nature that should have an orange cone placed nearby until repairs can be made.

Snatch? Clearly stolen. Bearded Clam? Sorry, mollusks are still in the animal kingdom.

Area. This one is the worst! Not only is it non-specific and confusing (imagine giving directions to an area in your Area), but “areas” are often mentioned with scenes of crimes, or as numbered places the government hides alien UFO wreckage. They are places cordoned off with yellow emergency tape or vast black ops security teams. We can’t have a name for Vagina that is associated with fear of the unknown or episodes of SVU.

And then there are the one-offs: Ham Wallet, Box, Axe-wound, Badly Wrapped Kebob, Bald Man in Boat, Beef Curtain, Hair Pie, Hot Pocket, Moose Knuckle, Poontang, Quim, Twat, Vajayjay, Fish Taco, Cooch, Birth Cannon, Tampon Tunnel, Nappy Dugout.  Really, could you ask your gynecologist to take a look at your Neden (thanks a bunch Insane Clown Posse)? Your Pink Canoe? Would a Congress member feel more comfortable discussing Fuck-Hole legislation? Wait…don’t answer that.

No. I propose we have a new name, one that elevates the Vagina. One that reveres the glory of the clit, cunny and cooter, and makes us want to talk about them all the more often. Majesty. Her Majesty. Just think, you could call it H.M. for short. It works in all situations: Clinical: “Doctor, Her Majesty has been itching of late, could you please take a look?” Legal: “The Perpetrator then violated the victim’s Majesty…” Romantic: “Honey, please bow down before Her Majesty…” Cosmotological: “Could you please trim the fur collar on Her Majesty’s cloak?” Colloquial: “My thong is all up in Her Majesty; I’ve gotta go adjust.” Marital: “Her Majesty demands an audience with you!”

It could totally work. After all, if certain politicians want to legislate my Vagina, then they’d better get used to hearing me talk about it. Of course, they could also just stop sticking their noses in my cooter, and then I wouldn’t have to keep saying it over and over. Vagina.



About the author

Marcia Brenner

Marcia Brenner

Marcia Brenner is an adjunct in the Fiction Writing Department at Columbia College Chicago. She has published short stories, essays, nonfiction, garnering awards from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association and the Better Business Bureau. In 2006 she’d had enough with being overweight; she joined Weight Watchers, lost over 90 pounds, rediscovered her long-abandoned bicycle and fell in love with Pilates. She now combines her love of metaphors with bodywork by teaching Classical Pilates at Chicago’s Frog Temple, where she is a certified Pre and Postnatal Specialist. She explores the battle for life and health balance on her website,

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