Friday, October 28, 2011

The Softcup. Or, how vaginal dams are saving relationships across America.

There comes a time in every new relationship when a woman needs to tell a man: I am a real human woman. I can prove this because I am currently bleeding out of the very orifice you wish to penetrate this evening. This scenario is real. It is awkward. It happens every goddamn month to every goddamn woman I know.

Later on, when a couple's entered the 'comfort' stage (you know--when you start eating Cheerios in bed and move the granny panties to the front of the drawer again), there come alternative means to coping with menstruation and your horny boyfriend. Option A. Get messy. Grant permission to enter the floods. Option B. Tell your man he can take care of himself for 3 damn days a month while you get familiar with a pint of Rocky Road and wail to a marathon of Lifetime movies.

But the first time your 'time of the month' happens to coincide with your 'time to go on a date' can be uncomfortable, especially if you've already slept with your new friend. How do you explain that you can't have sex this time even though you had sex last time without offending him, making bizarre excuses (sick, um neighbor at home?), or being honest (and do you really want to talk anatomy on the 2nd date?).

Well, this week I came face to face with this very quandary. I had a 2nd date planned with my most wonderful smoocher from last week, didn't want to cancel, but didn't want to face facts. Lo and behold, I came across a tweet from fellow dating blogger, The Urban Dater, introducing me to an alternative to the horrors of...[shudder]...womanhood. Softcup, alternatively dubbed 'Instead,' is meant to, well, cup your situation up there. This seemed genius. We love to defeat nature! We hate wrinkles! We hate our real hair color. And we HATE our periods! Cup that stuff up up there and save it--I want to have sex, dammit!

Well, the Softcup isn't as easy as all that, friends. Like all of man's solutions to nature--botox, store-bought hair dye, and-apparently-'Instead,' shit gets messy. I didn't feel comfortable with what I suspected might be leakage halfway through the date and I plugged up with alternative means and made an excuse to leave his apartment early.

But I have high hopes for Softcup on future, more confident, evenings out. I have 12 more of these puppies at home (14 come per box, but I wasted one doing an ooh & ahh-filled  demo for a friend) and I will not waste my money, if nothing else.

Future Softcup users beware: taking the cup out is not as easy as putting it in. As I described earlier on my Twitter feed:
[Taking it out] was like bobbing for an apple. Except I was drunk. & the apple was a slippery rubber ring. & the water was my vagina.

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