How do you spell relief? V-A-G-I-N-A!
Last year, when The Vagina Monologues played the Senator Theatre, upon the marquee I put “Vagina,” followed by “coming soon.” I was quickly informed of my inappropriateness. My lame attempts to explain the dangerous nature of the marquee and our limited amount of letters granted me no sympathy. This year, as I put up “Vagina Monologues Feb. 13-15 On Sale,” I saved the word “Vagina” for last, as it seemed every truckload of frat boys that drove by honked, hooted and waved as I stood perilously perched 20 feet high on the Senator “widow maker” ladder. Seeing the word “Vagina” as you cruise down Main Street is a real treat.
Yesterday a gruff older gent wandered in and asked what time the movie started, obviously thinking he was in a porno house. “What movie,” I asked. “'The virg, vig, vaag,” he stuttered, as his hands played with the change in his pockets. “It’s ‘vagina,’ sir. You’ve heard the word vagina before, haven’t you? This is a live performance.” That seemed to perk him up even more, until I explained that it was a play written by a woman for women and that nobody was naked.
That said, I know I just lost half of my audience, but listen to me for moment. The Vagina Monologues is a chance for you to finally hear women talk about the thing that we men most seek to understand (besides why the Raiders got beat so bad). It’s like being invited to a girl’s slumber party. This, friends, is your golden ticket to Vaginaville. If you’re in a relationship, consider it hardcore brownie points. If you’re single, you will get more information than in the book How to Pick Up Chicks that you ordered out of the back pages of Hustler.