Vagina Monolgue

I saw the famous Eve Ensler play many years ago with Brooke Shields. She was my childhood idol. I loved her Calvin Klein jeans and her eyebrows. A few months ago I received a call from a gal performing the play in Ashland. She asked if I’d be willing to write a monologue about my time in prison.

Because I say yes to everything that comes my way and even though I had no idea how to write a monologue I began to write. Well they liked it and just like that I sat in the audience and watched my real, true life story being performed on the stage. What a treat.

I even got to take a professional picture by a beautiful professional photographer.

Is that cool or what?

 

 

 

 

My vagina has been locked away since the morning I was arrested.

Right up until the very second federal agents forced their way into my hotel room my vagina was happy, peaceful, warm, safe and extremely satisfied.

Sex with your partner on the eve of being thrown to the floor and shackled is not a common experience.

Exposed and having no idea what was happening, my vagina remained in a blissful and ignorant state …  for the next few hours.

A pink leopard nightie was the only veil protecting my vagina from the invasion of coarse carpet fibers, trying to get close. Butted up against it.

My vagina was no longer free. It was the property of the US Government. All of me was.

My vagina had never been in trouble before or seen the inside of a jail.

Well that’s not entirely true.

When I was married to a police officer my vagina would go inside the jails to bring him a homemade lunch. I was a good wife.

But he had an affair.

And I got caught selling drugs to a priest with my boyfriend.

My vagina and I are in big trouble.

I tried to stop using drugs but I just couldn’t.

Not even the success and love of my fabulous wardrobe styling business could stop me from damaging my vagina.

I dressed the best vaginas in silk and french lace and the softest denim you could imagine.

After I relapsed and began doing meth my vagina came alive. It took on a life of it’s own, a force to be reckoned with.

My vagina begged for attention and became a willing slave to euphoria.

But after so long, my vagina got scared, nervous.

This was just supposed to be for fun. Not a lifestyle.

But I couldn’t stop using drugs.

The marshals let me cover my vagina with a pair of leggings. I was shaking too violently to put on underwear.

My vagina was innocent. My vagina did not deserve to be treated like a criminal.

You would think after four years in prison they would stop accusing my vagina but they didn’t.

My vagina has never been a temporary home to drugs or any other paraphernalia.

 

Lift your breasts.                  Oh no here it comes.

Turn around.                         I didn’t do it.

Bend at the waist.                 Please don’t look.

Spread your butt cheeks.      I’m innocent.

Give two hard coughs.          Maybe they’ll stop here.

Spread your vagina lips.        Idiots

Give two hard coughs.           Assholes.

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