I take my seat, there are three chairs on the stage. I immediately think - three vaginas. The place fills up with women - a lot of vaginas in one small theatre. I try not to think of the word - try not to encourage the stares. A few men shuttle about sweating, looking for a good spot, they cleverly avoid the front.
The music starts the lights dim, I lovingly look at the enterance the little man on the green background running for the door. Too late the performers arrive, one heavy-set, the other late sixites perhaps, and a blonde haired woman that is seen nightly on the telly.
They take their seats smile out to the audinece and say, "There sure are a lot of vaginas here tonight, and even a few brave men." There is a roar from the crowd, at the mention of 'men' I get poked in the next by someone in the back row, I ignore it.
"Well this is the Vagina Monologues." The elderly woman says. "And yes we are going to talk about vagina's."
And they proceed to list the different names for vaginas though I had trouble remembering most of them except for pussy. They proceeded to tell a story about a woman in her eighties who had bad experience when she was eighteen in the back of Billy's car and got all wet all over the leather seats because she was so excited, Billy was furious and brought her straight home(the mention of Billy I was poked in the back of the head). Ever since that she never looked at her vagina and had dreams about going out with a famous actor in a diner, dancing and having a laugh until she gets excited and a flood spills out of her and filling the diner with her wetness. People would be drowning and swimming by. Terrible really.
They continue to talk about the trials, tampons and wishing to put something nicer up oneself. They go into detail about plugging about bringing one in the bag. Thank God there were no images. "The smell of fish is really nice," they tell us. "Why does it have to smell fresh and like roses? Why can't it just smell like a vagina?"
I have never heard the word used so much in all my life. If a vagina could talk what would it say? "Where are you?" "How do you do?" with a posh english accent. What would it wear? Sunglasses, a night gown, a man's suit and tie? The possiblities were endless. Why did I never think of that?
The crowd laughed themselves silly, so did the performers, they found the whole thing very funny. The audience found clapping a problem and when they discovered that there are 8,000 more nerve endings in a vagina then anywhere else in the body including the male penis, all the vaginas in the audience were so pleased that they giggled and clapped like it was a marevelous discovery, and they continued to clap, until they were told, "Hush, hush!"
The interval came not long after, and i stood in the lobby englufed by women who were getting a glass of wine, a cup of coffee, a buscuit. I talked to some of the staff as I previously worked there, vaginas entered into the conversation. I asked, "So how is your vagina?" They replied "Good." and it ended there. A woman came up to me medium height, a long face, brown hair, and hit me repeatly in the shoulder, saying, "I hope you are learning something about the female sex tonight." I took my blows as if I deserved it and humbly walked outside to get some air.
Not long later I was back inside and the word vagina was getting a little scary, they went into great detail about a little girl's vagina getting raped, which I found disturbing, they told of a story of an Iranian women, of female mutilation. All quite disturbing. Men were mentioned as 'you' or 'they' and we were to blame for social problems which is true I guess, I realised that after the constant poking coming from the back. Then there was this story about a women who hated her vagina until a man came along couldn't get his eyes of her vagina and could read her character by looking at her vagina. She learned to love herself and the guy was never seen again. Funny stuff. Then the end, the lights were so red and bright that i was blinded when they talked about birth, it was highly poetic, energy charing through the words, the birth the head, the weeping gaping hole, the religious quality. Mary seemed to be in there. It ended amid a standing ovation, though the performers never came back on stage. I left quickly, walked home and got ready to go out with the lads. Enough vaginas for one night!