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Classic Girl: A Recipe for Lesbians Everywhere by khemistry
September 5, 2009, 4:19 am
Filed under: I'll Show You Mine

Once upon a time I was a Classic Girl. You know, like the Jane’s Addiction song. Never heard it? Okay, well, me and mine were brought up classic feminine stereotypes. Growing up in the Deep Down South, this means a lot of things that Classics from (say) Michigan or New Jersey may not be too familiar with. For example: I never heard the word “pussy” until I was in Middle School. But then again, I don’t remember hearing “vagina” or the decrepit-and-extra dry sounding “twat” either. Growing up Church of God means that human beings are made through Divine Will or maybe brought in by a phalanx of storks. My sex education (outside the 10th grade health classes) consisted of my Aunt handing me one of those fold-out inserts that tampon manufacturers put in each and every box of Kotex for just such an occasion—oh, and to ward off lawsuits concerning Toxic Shock Syndrome. The insert shows an almost-completely de-sexualized drawing of a woman inserting a (BRANDtm) tampon into a hairless receptacle representing (I think) her va-jay-jay. You know, her V-A-G-I-N-A. Sex Ed Part 2: I think my mother may have muttered something about not letting the boys touch my hoo-hoo at breakfast one morning. But that might have been a conversation about what I wanted packed in my lunch (as opposed to my va-jay-jay?).

Any hoo, the Church of God’s aren’t all bad people. They’re just really, really boring. We were required to wear skirts, and we weren’t supposed to cut our hair or wear make-up, though our particular preacher’s wife must have been a feminist among COG’ers. She set the tone by wearing Mary Kay make-up, thereby giving all us hoo-hoo ho’s the DIVINE RIGHT to wear (Mary Kay) make-up, too. So long as we bought it from her. She drove the Good Preacher and their sexually-repressed, closeted gay son and not-the-least-little-bit-repressed WHORE daughter (and my nemesis) to church in her pink Mary Kay Kommando Cadillac every Sunday.

In my high school, you could tell the COG’er girls (like me) because we always wore denim skirts–never (and i mean NEVER) jeans or shorts. And by skirts I do not in any way whatsoever mean skirts of the mini-persuasion. I mean long, shapeless thick denim skirts. Womanwear. 

Classic Girls are supposed to ride next to their boyfriends in their trucks. If you’re taking us to the movie’s, we don’t care what we go see. “Whatever you want,” is practically the first words we learn to speak after “Ma-Ma”, “Pa-Pa”, “Doodie” and “By Your Command.” If we have an original idea, it is our duty to convince our boyfriend it was actually HIS great idea. Folks, it’s not rocket science. Perry spelled it all out in the song. Look it up if you don’t believe me.

What happened to most of us classic COG’ers? Well, a sizable chunk of us became lesbians. AFTER we ho’ed out for a while, post-high school. We discovered our pussies (not our vaginas) and then we discovered those idiots next to us in the truck were as clueless about what to do with their “ding-dongs” as we were. Thank God!

I’m still not sure HOW (exactly) my parents managed to conceive children…with all the ding-dongs and hoo-hoo’s being consumed and all. But I’m really quite thankful they accidentally did manage to make whoopie, or whatever dumb-ass name they call…you know, scroggin’. Ye Olde Bone Dance. Etc.

Because I for one am rather fond of my hoo-hoo and plan to keep using it at every opportunity.

3Jane / author of KINKY KHEMISTRY

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