quizzical pussy

Because my vagina is now so snobby and fancy and very used to getting expensive things shoved up it, it has informed me that we simply do not do tampons anymore.

A tampon costs about $.20 or so, making it the crappy $10 jelly dildo of menstrual devices. According to my vagina, I can go fuck myself if I think that’s going to cut it anymore. After all, my vagina is used to Feeldoes and Pure Wands and a boyfriend with the most beautiful penis I’ve ever seen. So to a point, I understand how a wad of bleached cotton with a dangly string is just insulting at this point.

The Diva Cup, a medical grade silicone menstrual cup, is mathematically just a better thing to put in one’s vagina, according to mine. At over a hundred times more expensive than a single tampon, it’s more appropriate for a fancy vagina, is the argument. I think. Now, I’m not sure how fair it would be to say that I honor my genitals’ wishes whenever they get ideas about things, but I was out of tampons and when I actually did the math¹ I realized that this scheme would actually save me money in the long run. So I ordered one and then promptly got my period, which ended shortly before my Diva Cup arrived.

…Which was a little annoying, but the thing about periods is there’s always another one coming along eventually. Until there’s not, at which point you throw yourself the best party ever.

So on that last period I used up my remaining Instead Softcups, which I hate. They feel roughly like sticking a garbage bag duct taped to a hula hoop up your hoohah, and yet somehow manage to leak anyway. Considering that these war crimes were my first experience with menstrual cups, the leap of faith I took ordering the Diva Cup only makes sense when you realize I’m often entirely ruled by whimsy.

I waited about a month and a half, I think, before I started my very first Diva period yesterday. I have to admit I was a little excited beyond that normal “Jubilation! Not pregnant!² Not in total thyroid shutdown!” rush. I like new toys, okay?

I’ve been using this thing for less than 24 hours, so I’m not actually writing a comprehensive review, just sharing some first impressions:

1. Size-wise, the Diva Cup is much (much much) more manageable than the Instead, which always seemed to end up askew inside me and half pushed out because my body had no idea where it was meant to go. The Diva doesn’t feel nearly as obtrusive.
2. There’s going to be a bit of a learning curve. You fold up the Diva Cup to insert it, and then you’re supposed to turn it 360° while still gripping the base (not the stem) in order to get it unfolded and correctly placed. Now, I said the Diva Cup was smaller than a hula hoop-sized apparatus. Notice that I did not say it’s small enough to perform finger acrobatics with inside my nethers.
3. Overall, I’m encouraged. It seems to be working without much leaking despite the fact that I’m almost certainly not doing the turny thing right. And a good thing too, because I’m already financially committed to using it exclusively for uterine lining management for the next couple years.
4. And! It just occurred to me that I’m doing something wonderful for the environment as well! I should really treat myself and chop down a few baby Mediterranean monk seals. I’ve earned it.

Moral of the story: My vagina makes sense. We should all listen to it more often.

(image source)

1. Math being a thing that I, being a person and not a vagina, can actually make use of. [↩]
2. Yes, even though my primary partner has a vasectomy and I haven’t played with another guy in months, and always use condoms with anyone who isn’t Laramy. I am that paranoid. [↩]