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(I wrote this seven years ago, and thought I'd share it again. Enjoy my pain, motherfuckers!)
Herein lies a story which contains too much information to relate, yet that has not stopped me from sharing. Be warned....
It all started late last week. At first I thought it was just a shaving disorder--that I'd clipped the lawn too short, so to speak. However, after a day or two of discomfort and itching, I realized it was my old nemesis: Candidiasis. When I was in my second year of university, I was at war with my crotch. It seemed I was forever embroiled in some battle or another. My crotch had quite the arsenal, too. Its weapon stores were filled with urinary tract problems, ingrown hairs, and yeast infections.
At long last, and with great jubilation, I had won the battle. My crotch was a happy place.
But last week, the resistance showed up. There was no time for me to go to the medical clinic for reinforcements, so I went to a drug store and bought some do-it-yourself meds. These included an anti-fungal salve, an applicator stick, and three little eggs. According to the instructions, I was to balance an egg on the applicator stick, shove it up one of the places where the sun don't shine, and push the plunger. With the egg firmly nested in my cervix, I would then apply the salve and have a good night's sleep.
It all seemed pretty straight forward, and preferable to the methods I had to use back in 1992. Back then, I was given what looked like a giant hypodermic needle and a bunch of icky paste. I then injected the paste and tried to sleep while the insides of me basted with foul-smelling medicine. Of course, any time I had to move, it would squirt or ooze out of me in a most horrific manner.
The eggs seemed rather innocuous. The applicator seemed straight forward for anyone who understands how tampons work.
It was bedtime, so it was time for my medicine.
After making sure everything was squeaky clean, I got out the medicine. The eggs were nested in a little blister pack. I pushed on one of the eggs, expecting it to burst through the foil the way any other pill would. The egg smooshed a little bit, but didn't emerge. I used a fingernail to break the foil, then tried to push the egg out again. It wasn't happening, though. It seemed to be stuck to the plastic. After a long struggle where I did my best not to break the egg, I finally got it out.
I next assembled the egg-launching device and balanced the egg on the end. I then looked at the contraption warily. The edges beneath the egg looked less than silky smooth. My poor crotch was already raw and irritated from the candidiasis. I didn't much want to shove this sharpish thing up my wazoo.
I tried, anyway. After a bit of coaxing, up went the applicator and the egg. I pushed the plunger slowly, then cautiously removed the launching apparatus. There, on the top, sat the egg. The darned thing had stayed put! Then, while I stared at the egg in anguish, it Humpty Dumptied off the applicator and onto the floor.
I picked it up, rinsed it off, and went for the second take.
By this point, the egg felt slimy. I think the eggshell is supposed to gradually dissolve, so the rinsing I gave it probably didn't help with its structural integrity. However, I didn't want to put a dirty egg up my snatch.
Once more, I put the egg on the launcher. Once more, I sent it spelunking. Once more, it stayed put on its little launch pad.
Frustrated, I pushed it back up and tried to get my cervix to get a good grab on the egg, but to no avail. It came back out with the applicator. I pumped the applicator up and down a good half dozen times, and the egg stayed firmly planted.
I decided to forego the useless applicator. Unfortunately, the egg was now stuck on the plastic device like a head on a pike. I had to pick at it to get it off. Then the darned thing fell onto the floor again. I washed it again, and once more, into the breech, my little egg went, this time forced along by my index finger.
A funny thing happened on the way up there.
Weakened by all its misadventures, the egg broke.
The egg shot up toward my centre and white goop rolled down my finger. I clamped my knees firmly together and waddled over to the sink to wash off the offensive fluids. Then, knees and thighs still mashed together, I Morticia-walked to bed. "Turn out the light," I growled to f00.
"Do it yourself," he answered.
"No. If I do, then I'll have to navigate the path to bed in the dark while egg whites roll down my legs."
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.
I explained what just happened, and he broke into laughter.
"Fuck off," I said, and got into bed.
I think he fell asleep still giggling.
There was no sleep to be had by me. The egg white was making its way inexorably toward my exterior, and it itched like a sonuvabitch. I tried everything to forget the itching down there. I thought about funny movies. I thought about scary movies. I pretended my leg was itchy, and scratched that, instead. I bit my tongue and concentrated on the pain of that. None of these things worked.
After a couple of hours of torturous itchiness, I decided to hell with it all, and went back to the bathroom. I no longer cared if I was wiping the medication off. I didn't want it on me anymore. I couldn't bear it.
So I had myself a tinkle, and like a good girl, wiped from front to back, and then I came back to bed.
Apparently, my wiping habits, normally so hygienically-correct, are not a good idea when there is an itchsome fluid to be dealt with. All of a sudden, the unbearable itchiness was no longer affecting just my most holy of holies, but my arsehole as well.
Don't ask me how, but I did manage to get some sleep, eventually. Perhaps the unbearable itchiness made me pass out.
For the next two nights, I skipped the applicator and used my trusty finger. The loathsome eggs appear to have done their jobs. I believe I've been cured.
Herein lies a story which contains too much information to relate, yet that has not stopped me from sharing. Be warned....
It all started late last week. At first I thought it was just a shaving disorder--that I'd clipped the lawn too short, so to speak. However, after a day or two of discomfort and itching, I realized it was my old nemesis: Candidiasis. When I was in my second year of university, I was at war with my crotch. It seemed I was forever embroiled in some battle or another. My crotch had quite the arsenal, too. Its weapon stores were filled with urinary tract problems, ingrown hairs, and yeast infections.
At long last, and with great jubilation, I had won the battle. My crotch was a happy place.
But last week, the resistance showed up. There was no time for me to go to the medical clinic for reinforcements, so I went to a drug store and bought some do-it-yourself meds. These included an anti-fungal salve, an applicator stick, and three little eggs. According to the instructions, I was to balance an egg on the applicator stick, shove it up one of the places where the sun don't shine, and push the plunger. With the egg firmly nested in my cervix, I would then apply the salve and have a good night's sleep.
It all seemed pretty straight forward, and preferable to the methods I had to use back in 1992. Back then, I was given what looked like a giant hypodermic needle and a bunch of icky paste. I then injected the paste and tried to sleep while the insides of me basted with foul-smelling medicine. Of course, any time I had to move, it would squirt or ooze out of me in a most horrific manner.
The eggs seemed rather innocuous. The applicator seemed straight forward for anyone who understands how tampons work.
It was bedtime, so it was time for my medicine.
After making sure everything was squeaky clean, I got out the medicine. The eggs were nested in a little blister pack. I pushed on one of the eggs, expecting it to burst through the foil the way any other pill would. The egg smooshed a little bit, but didn't emerge. I used a fingernail to break the foil, then tried to push the egg out again. It wasn't happening, though. It seemed to be stuck to the plastic. After a long struggle where I did my best not to break the egg, I finally got it out.
I next assembled the egg-launching device and balanced the egg on the end. I then looked at the contraption warily. The edges beneath the egg looked less than silky smooth. My poor crotch was already raw and irritated from the candidiasis. I didn't much want to shove this sharpish thing up my wazoo.
I tried, anyway. After a bit of coaxing, up went the applicator and the egg. I pushed the plunger slowly, then cautiously removed the launching apparatus. There, on the top, sat the egg. The darned thing had stayed put! Then, while I stared at the egg in anguish, it Humpty Dumptied off the applicator and onto the floor.
I picked it up, rinsed it off, and went for the second take.
By this point, the egg felt slimy. I think the eggshell is supposed to gradually dissolve, so the rinsing I gave it probably didn't help with its structural integrity. However, I didn't want to put a dirty egg up my snatch.
Once more, I put the egg on the launcher. Once more, I sent it spelunking. Once more, it stayed put on its little launch pad.
Frustrated, I pushed it back up and tried to get my cervix to get a good grab on the egg, but to no avail. It came back out with the applicator. I pumped the applicator up and down a good half dozen times, and the egg stayed firmly planted.
I decided to forego the useless applicator. Unfortunately, the egg was now stuck on the plastic device like a head on a pike. I had to pick at it to get it off. Then the darned thing fell onto the floor again. I washed it again, and once more, into the breech, my little egg went, this time forced along by my index finger.
A funny thing happened on the way up there.
Weakened by all its misadventures, the egg broke.
The egg shot up toward my centre and white goop rolled down my finger. I clamped my knees firmly together and waddled over to the sink to wash off the offensive fluids. Then, knees and thighs still mashed together, I Morticia-walked to bed. "Turn out the light," I growled to f00.
"Do it yourself," he answered.
"No. If I do, then I'll have to navigate the path to bed in the dark while egg whites roll down my legs."
"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.
I explained what just happened, and he broke into laughter.
"Fuck off," I said, and got into bed.
I think he fell asleep still giggling.
There was no sleep to be had by me. The egg white was making its way inexorably toward my exterior, and it itched like a sonuvabitch. I tried everything to forget the itching down there. I thought about funny movies. I thought about scary movies. I pretended my leg was itchy, and scratched that, instead. I bit my tongue and concentrated on the pain of that. None of these things worked.
After a couple of hours of torturous itchiness, I decided to hell with it all, and went back to the bathroom. I no longer cared if I was wiping the medication off. I didn't want it on me anymore. I couldn't bear it.
So I had myself a tinkle, and like a good girl, wiped from front to back, and then I came back to bed.
Apparently, my wiping habits, normally so hygienically-correct, are not a good idea when there is an itchsome fluid to be dealt with. All of a sudden, the unbearable itchiness was no longer affecting just my most holy of holies, but my arsehole as well.
Don't ask me how, but I did manage to get some sleep, eventually. Perhaps the unbearable itchiness made me pass out.
For the next two nights, I skipped the applicator and used my trusty finger. The loathsome eggs appear to have done their jobs. I believe I've been cured.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-07-24 04:54 pm (UTC)From:I'm laughing my ass off. That egg really had it in for you. That egg was made with 'fuck you' stamped on it's surface.
no subject
Date: 2009-07-24 05:29 pm (UTC)From:You should read this piece at Cliterature in January!:)
no subject
Date: 2009-07-24 06:57 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2013-01-27 05:05 pm (UTC)From: