I know it feels cold to be writing you in an email rather than talking about this face to face, or woman to vagina. But frankly, I can't bare to look at you anymore. When I look at you, it's like you're dead inside. I try peering deep into your soul ... OK, just deep into you, but I can't even tell what I'm looking at anymore. You're out of shape. Lifeless. Gone to pot, as they say. You're not the vagina I used to know and love. I don't know who you are or what you've become—what a cliché we've become. I never thought this would happen to us after having kids, like all those other couples, but it has.
Vag, baby? What happened to us? We used to be a team, working in tandem. I'd have to pee, you'd hold it in. Those were the carefree days, huh? Late-night comedy clubs—man, how we loved those. The only wet-soaked body parts were our eyes from crying with laughter. I'm trying not to look back and remember what was and I know nothing lasts forever, but it's time we talked.
You've let yourself go, and this is sure-fire death to any couple.
What happened to you?
You're not the same fun-loving vagina you were before we had kids. I used to love taking you on drives to my favorite waxer, Jacqui, for a sexy, cheap Brazilian wax. I was so proud of you back then. Jacqui, in her beautifully broken English, would get right up into your face and rave on and on, "You look 18!" Even though we all knew we were far from 18. I loved showing you off to Jacqui. She would swoon about how "organized" and "tidy" you were—the ultimate compliment, if you ask me. You know how I hate clutter.
You've let yourself go, and this is sure-fire death to any couple. You used to be sexy, lean, fit and fun. You were always perfectly manicured, like the White House lawn. Always up and ready for a spontaneous good time should the opportunity present itself. To say you've put on more than a few is putting it mildly. You're a chub. And please don't blame it on monthly bloat. Also everyone knows long hair is not attractive on a vagina in her mid-40s. It just makes you look old. Don't you read Allure or Elle?
I'm sick of your non-cooperation. You're a hot mess. If you don't get your act together, I'm going out and getting myself a newer, younger and fresher-looking vagina. Don't think I'm kidding—I have the doctor's number on speed dial.
We need to go to therapy and work this out. Make that, we need to work out, together, as partners. I've downloaded a Kegel app and I'm open to working with you on this, if you are. This is your last chance. Get yourself in shape or I'm out.