Or as I like to call it, The Yeast Beast.
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Many men are more than happy to talk about the clitoris and the vagina all damn day and I am thrilled to accommodate these sicko pervs. However, there is a line we all hate to cross. But there comes a time when one must throw caution and good taste aside and address these issues in the interest of womanhood.
Yes, yeast infections. Crotch rot. That burning itching dripping fungus that attacks the very area we hold most dear.
I never used to get yeast infections. Then I started taking all these antibiotics, now I seem to be on my third one.
I was not exactly sure the first day. I mean, I had a sort of itchy achy feeling radiating from between my legs. I called up my husband to report this. He likes to keep track of my crotch.
"Honey, I think I am really horny."
He gulped. "You think?"
"Itís hard to say. I could be getting yeast infection. I definitely need something down there."
"Probably a yeast infection," he said gloomily.
"No, I think it is horniness. I want you."
"Whatever you say."
"I said I want you, dammit! I am longing for you! I need it bad."
He sighed. "Okay, I get it."
But then the burning began. The itching became unbearable, panties were an impossibility, and I was compelled to continually check for the tell-tale whitish ickiness. Soon I was fairly confident I had the crotch rot, but couldnít quite find time to get to the grocery store.
By mid morning I was in agony. I couldnít decide if I wanted to lie back with my legs spread and shove an ice cube up my twat or floss with a burlap rope. The corncobs in the cornucopia table display suddenly looked very appealing. I exerted myself trying to dig and itch in a graceful manner in my open to the world office.
At lunch I rushed to the store, being careful to walk with my legs four feet apart at all times. I grabbed the Monistat 3 from the shelf. A friend, who happens to also be a pharmacist, was working. I decided to be responsible and actually read the label.
"David, my crotch is on fire again. This says not to use repeatedly. Can I still use it?"
He paused. He then made some very professional type noises about consulting your physician.
"Donít screw with me David, I need it BAD!" I was in no mood.
He admitted I could probably use it. I amused myself by bitching for several minutes about this latest series of primal punishments. David became concerned.
"You really should see a doctor. If you are getting them a lot you could be developing drug resistant strain." He went on from there.
The basic premise was I could actually be using my vagina to breed my very own form of Super Yeast that would eventually be vulnerable only to kryptonite and the music of Barry Manilow. I couldnít get into the doctor for at least a week. I asked for alternatives. David informed me many women used natural treatments, such as plain yogurt.
"Umm, how exactly would you get the yogurt in there?"
I pondered this. I suggested I could make little yogurt popsicles and shove them inside. But David wasnít sure if freezing would kill the cultures. The other scenarios I came up with seemed very messy or involved fancy equipment I did not own. Also, how long would you leave it? It is sort of warm down there and experience has taught me if yogurt sits out too long it spoils.
"Well, you can also use garlic," he suggested. "You wrap some open cloves in a cheese cloth and insert overnight. Be sure to leave a piece of the cloth where you can reach it though."
Beautiful. This would have the added benefit of keeping vampires out from between my thighs while I slept. Always an issue. Add some tomatoes and pasta and you have a dining experience waiting to happen.
I bought the Monistat again.
- this is in or around At The Bakery
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