The Wondrous Vulva Puppet.

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The Wondrous Vulva PuppetThis is The Wondrous Vulva Puppet, brought to my attention by — of all people — my 11-year-old, Heaven help us all.

My first thought: now I’ve seen everything.

My immediate second thought? I haven’t. This tomfoolery is, in all likelihood, merely the tip of a mammoth iceberg of absurdity. I am but a hapless explorer, beginning a trek into a world of goofiness, a cartographer mapping out a journey to the center of silliness.

Armageddon rapidly recedes into the far distant future. Who would rain hellfire onto a universe festooned with such buffoonery?

Daughter: Mom?

Me: (busy, only half-listening): Um?

Daughter: In my Seventeen and my CosmoGirl magazines, they both have sections about … Australia.

Me: (still deeply involved in making the Internet safe for satire) Um-hmm.

Daughter: You know what I mean when I say “Australia,” right?

Me: (still attempting to phone in this conversation) A country inhabited by very outdoorsy, enthusiastic people with charming but difficult-to-mimic-accurately accents?

Daughter: (clearing throat) I mean “down there,” Ma.

Me: (whipping my swivel chair around way too quickly to achieve the cool, casual effect I’m striving for) Really? That’s, um…

Daughter: Anyway, I wanted to show you this page.

Me: (swiveling back to be handed the page you see on the left, and to be flabbergasted into speechlessness.)

Daughter: Are you mad?

Me: No! Of course not. No! Of course not. No! It’s… well… it’s SORT of natural… (Flapping around for the right thing to say, I reach for Old Reliable.) How do YOU feel about it?

Daughter: (who is by far the more mature and calm of this pair in just about all matters) I find it informative, but graphic and disturbing.

(Keen, accurate and precise. All those “omit needless words” I keep writing on her papers are paying off.)

I’m wondering, except for the part of me that would make my mother (but not my grandmother) blush, why exactly this thing has to be a puppet? I mean, as a puppeteer myself, I’m curious about the mechanics of the contraption. Do you stick your hand in, and make the lips move so The Wondrous VP can say things?

To whom?

What would it say?

Would it thank your hormones, as Seventeen Magazine suggests in the May 2008 issue, and I quote: “Dear Estrogen: Thanks for girly hips and breasts, plus strong bones, clear skin, and a better mood.”

Or this missive: “Dear Progesterone: Thanks for keeping periods coming, so I know I’m healthy and maturing into a woman.”

If I were going to write a letter to my hormones, it would read more like this:

“Thanks for turning me into a fried-chocolate eating, temper-tantrum-throwing, moody psychotic as often as Lon Chaney the werewolf has to strap himself into a chair, avoiding the curse of the full moon. REALLY appreciate that. OH: plus, I love that I’m out of the pool on all those 400-degree days. That’s terrific. Almost as fabulous as the bloating, the cramping and the headaches. But one more thing, in all earnestness – I do seriously appreciate you keeping my butt out of unflattering white pants.”

Although I probably should add that I truly am grateful that I don’t have man-hair on my face, or burly arms, or some hormonal disorder (although that thyroid thing that makes you super-thin would be tough to turn down. Wait: is thyroid hormones, or endocrine-something? Or are they the same? I forget. I’m a writer, not a doctor, Captain.)

At any rate, should you, Constant Reader, wish to own a Wondrous Vulva Puppet your very own self, you can! (Seventeen is VERY big on the bang – the exclamation point, my most hated of all punctuation marks!)

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT (the link, anyway):
For only $125, not including shipping and handling, you can have your choice of seven – count ’em seven – colors, featuring Classy Claret (that’s CLASSY Claret, mind you), and your choice of Ravishing Red or Regal Red, in case one red isn’t enough. There’s even one in Gorgeous Gold. And one with silver lips. Oooh, fancy. It’s at a site called (in their “Healing Gifts” section), but be warned: it’s an adult site, with DEFINITELY adult content.


So now you’ve been introduced to The Wondrous Vulva Puppet, and now, like me, you’ll be tormented with the phrase for days: like a song you can’t get out of your head, you’ll be repeating the phrase over and over in your mind: Wondrous Vulva Puppet, Wondrous Vulva Puppet…

Pass it on. Or not.

(photo: Page from Seventeen Magazine, May 2008 )


Filed under confidence, family, humor, life, satire, self-image, sex, sexuality

11 responses to “The Wondrous Vulva Puppet.

  1. WOW!! we have come a long way since Kermit the Frog

  2. I do toy parties and we use them all the time to teach women what goes where. Looks kooky true but they have a use lol

  3. I dunno. He might prefer THIS to Miss Piggy.

  4. Really? Are there many women out there who need a puppet that’s roughly 500 percent larger than the actual parts, that have grown to the age of majority, who STILL need an instruction manual – or educational puppetry?

    Personally, I’d prefer… er… hands-on learning in the trenches. If ya know what I mean. I’m sure your classes are delightfully kooky, but I’m more of a learn-as-you-go type gal.

  5. Steph

    What’s so disturbing about a vagina?
    These puppets are great. Many people don’t know much about the urethral sponge, female ejaculation, and where all the glands are. The oversize puppets make it easy and fun to give women (and men!) some useful knowledge about their options. A great teaching tool!

  6. Steph

    You bet there are women out there who don’t know. There is so much about our female anatomy that is not commonly known! I’m sure there’s still a ton I haven’t tried or even heard about. We are definitely not one of the sexually advanced cultures!

  7. Good point. Sort of. Still: you haven’t really “tried” anything if you’ve “tried” it with a giant-sized, rainbow-colored puppet, now, have you?

  8. Personally, I find nothing whatsoever disturbing about the vagina itself; I’m delighted to be in possession of one. I’m even more delighted mine is not the size of my head, nor is it silver or gold. Here’s a quote from my new book, “The Secret, Closely-Guarded Girl Manual”, which might explain my position more clearly: “… make a point to yourself to say the word “vagina” every so often. You OWN one. It’s a perfectly normal part of your body. In fact, it’s a very nice, eminently USEFUL, and much-sought-after part of your body. So is your clitoris, the only human organ with no other function other than to give pleasure. (Jealous much, boys?) No one ever seems to have a problem with the word ‘penis,’ or its many colloquial synonyms, but the word vagina and ITS corresponding synonyms are considered vulgar beyond all reckoning. Outside of the ground-breaking “Vagina Monologues,” and the gynecologist’s office, no one ever says vagina. Granted, it’s not likely to come up in conversation all that often. (‘Please pass the waffles… VAGINA!’) I don’t recommend you insert it randomly or inappropriately when visiting, say, your granny. I’d hate to see you shuffled off to be tested for Tourette’s Syndrome, all in the name of desensitizing a word that need not be feared. Still: let’s all say it once or twice, out loud, and not be crybaby scaredy-cats of our own bodies, okay girls? Now, don’t we all feel a little better? Well, trust me. You will eventually.”

  9. The funny thing about your conversation appears for the foreign mind, desperately searching the internet in Germany for a supplier. I will hold a class called HerzYoni with women who are standing in their power on a spiritual path. I thought for those of us who have those hard judgements on their vagina, or, rather, the “blank” between their legs, unspoken, or unconscious fears holding a wondrous vulva in their hands, being forced to acknowledge its beauty and the fun innocence of the creator of it, it has a healing impetus without words. Thats why I want to get one. And then I stumbled over this hilarious website. THANK you for it. I feel like a sibling to your species.

  10. i forgot to click the follow-up

  11. I may not be German, but I’m fairly certain we ARE the same species. Sisters, I’ll go with you on.

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