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Mr. Waffle deserves the Medal of Valor

Or, My Vagina Is A Real Bastard


Warning: Thar be TMI ahead. Like, seriously. Don't read any further if you're terribly squeamish or are a pearl-clutcher, because fuck you, life us gross-deal with it.

(Puppy gif for good feels)

Are we below the jump yet? How about now? Fuck it, I'm starting my story.

At the beginning of September I came down with The Great Wheeze-athon, a.k.a. Enterovirus D68. It was not fun. As a result of straddling the line between bronchitis and pneumonia and being a lifelong diabetic, my doc put me on ginormo-horsepill-antibiotics and prednisone. My father-in-law warned me about the yeasty-beasties. My period came right as I started the meds, so I thought, "Whew! Avoided a yeast infection!"


LOL, NOPE. I bought a 3-day pack of Monistat (because that was all the effort I was willing to commit to), and went to work. Each time I inserted the suppository slime-bullet, it came sliding back out. One very helpful GTer offered this advice: "You've really got to get in there, knuckle deep!" I tried, lord how I tried. The Monistat worked well enough along with my reduced-sugar diet to quell my symptoms.

...Until my birthday weekend. On Friday, Mr. Waffle brought home a 2-layer cake decorated like a hamburger. On Saturday, we went to my folks house and had German chocolate cake, and my mom sent us home with a ginormous chunk. On Sunday we has pain au chocolat with my in-laws. I think you can see where this is going.


So here I am, with an itchy berginer. On the advice of the aforementioned GTer, I found suppositories with boric acid in them, and they seem to be helping quite a lot, but I'm having the same problem—THEY JUST WILL NOT STAY IN.

Now, folks, this is the problem I've always had with tampons and menstrual cups. Apparently, my vagina is stronger and has more willpower than I give it credit for, because nothing stays up there of ol' Vagine doesn't want it there.


So, again, I'm having trouble getting the suppository to stay. I'm on my back, on the bed, twisted and contorted, cursing so much it would make a sailor blush, and Mr. Waffle offers a meek, "Everything okay?"

"I need your help," I said, sighing. "Uh, basically, I need you to finger me." He giggles.


These suppositories are not the slime-bullet kind, they're more like a gummy bear consistency. I instruct him to follow my finger, which is just barely controlling the pussy gummy, and shove it in as far as he can. He does. Then he giggles.

He walks off to wash his hands and I have to ask him to bring me some hand-wipes. He looks at me quizzically, and I say, "I'm afraid it'll fall out if I get up!" He giggles.


I told him I loved him, and that I'm sorry; I'm sure this isn't what he signed up for. He assures me that yes, it is, and he loves me, too.

What a weirdo.

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