My husband has no problem with the word "vagina," but slide into U-word territory and he freaks out. "Honey," I said, "The doctor said I need a little lady biz taken care of..." To his credit, he tried to ask the right questions, but the contortion of his face, screwed up counterclockwise, overrode whatever sympathy he was trying to convey, as he cupped his left hand protectively over his boys.
"It's not contagious!" I said, storming out on my hormone powered broom.
"What's the recovery?" he managed to ask.
"Ah, don't worry," I told him. "Queasiness, cramping, anxiety, depression." I went back and patted his head. "But then you'll be fine."
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