Mrs. Overlord is on the mend. We thank you all for your e-mails, phone calls, and other personal expressions of support and solidarity. And for anyone who cares, my flu has gotten better, too. Since I'm under the weather and feel guilty for not hand-crafting your year-end tomfoolery, I leave you with this Classic, originally published at the InsaneAsylum some years back. Happy New Year! Enjoy...
I must admit that I have never pondered this question before. Not even for as much as five seconds in the entire course of my life have I contemplated this question. I do not recall an occasion where as much as the thought ever entered my head, but now that the subject has been broached -- I'll explain it all in a minute -- I find myself curiously drawn to trying to answer this age-old conundrum which has apparently vexed Mankind since the days when our earliest ancestors fell out of trees.
This would appear to be such an insignificant question, when it doesn't appear to be the most ridiculous question you've ever heard in all of your life.
But, once you've had three seconds to let it sink in that someone actually had the temerity to even raise the subject, it is sorta-kinda an interesting, if odd, one.
I do not embark upon this Odyssey to understand the philosophy of the yeast infection, the pathology of the Candidiasis for no reason whatsoever, you know. I have been forced to expend brain cells on this enigmatic catechism for a specific reason:
You see, I was forced into the middle of a discussion about yeast infections – and much, much more – quite against my will. And the memory, no matter how hard I try to shake it from the inside of my brain like it was an image on an Etch-a-Sketch, simply will not go away.
Mind you, I’m not particularly interested in the inner workings of some woman’s private area. I figure if God had wanted Men to know what it was like to have a vagina, he would have made us all that guy on Modern Family. So far as I’m concerned, and so far as most men are concerned, a vagina and it’s inner workings are something that should remain a secret unless we need to know in order to get some.
Now, all this talk of Bearded Clams was not my idea, I can assure you. I’m not the sort of guy who is prone to being captured by his stray thoughts. I promise you: I did not put this idea into my own skull. It was forced upon me.
And the chief instruments of this inhuman torture were a bus stop, a cell phone, and a woman with no frickin’ class, whatsoever. Welcome to my world: I seem to find all the crazies, and they tend to torment me with their lunacy, even long after they’re gone.
See, there I was simply waiting for a bus. I got things to do, and places to go to, and all I want is to be left alone to do my thing in my own way. I don’t care about anyone else’s problems – I have enough of my own, thank you – and I don’t want to know what people are doing in their spare time, or ever. Frankly, I find most people to about as interesting as four-day-old toast, and regard most to have all the appeal of an overflowing litter box. I’d prefer to keep most people at arm’s length...and then pray for 20’ long arms.
Most of the time this mental state serves me well: I can smell moron from a mile away, and take evasive action, as required. The problem is that technology has now made it possible for morons everywhere to invade your space and your privacy while simultaneously inviting you into their space and clobbering you with their rampant stupidity, lack of manners, and general cluelessness.
There should be a law: if you can’t figure out which discussions should and should not be held in public, then you should be shot dead where you stand.
I shall hereafter refer to my unwelcome assailant as “Tiffany” for the simple reason that while this name evokes images of art, high quality, and fragile beauty, she had not a single one of those qualities apparent. Tiffany is about 17 or 18 years of age. She is egg-shaped, she has sideburns, and she wore shorts so short and so tight that I could have sworn that Larry from the Three Stooges had crawled into her pants and was engaged in oral sex with her right there on the sidewalk.
Tiffany displayed all the hallmarks one would expect from someone with a fifth-grade education: tramp stamp, foul mouth, bad teeth, limited vocabulary. But Tiffany’s biggest handicap is her inability to realize that having a personal conversation about your va-jay-jay on speakerphone in a public place is simply bad form.
Not to mention funny as all hell…
You see, Tiffany has just left a local doctor’s office, and is telling her boyfriend all about the experience. One gets the general impression, because you’re party to this conversation whether you want to be or not, that Tiffany’s boyfriend (we’ll call him “Jughead”) is under the impression that Tiffany is trying to stick an unwanted pregnancy on him. Tiffany assured him as close as I can quote, “why would I tell you I had my uterus snipped, and then tell you I was pregnant?”
Yes, Tiffany, the world wonders: why would you…?
But, I digress.
Anyway, Tiffany reassures Jughead that she is not, in fact, pregnant. I’m certain that had this announcement been made in a more-public space, say Time’s Square during New Year’s Eve, the world would have rejoiced as one. That would mean that Tiffany and Jughead have failed to conceive a little Jughead, and the world is kept just that much further from potential catastrophe. Why, I even felt like jumping for joy, I can tell you.
But, Tiffany is not finished delivering the really bad news, for you see, she has a yeast infection. Apparently a bad one, because I could swear I saw Wonderbread oozing out from between her legs. Or perhaps that was just the hallucinations brought about by the dense, intoxicating cloud of stupidity that Tiffany had dragged with her? No matter.
It seems as if Tiffany believes that said yeast infection was given to her by Jughead. I do not know if this is medically possible – let’s say it is, I don’t know, and I don’t really give a shit – but when Jughead refused to believe it, Tiffany brought out this gem of wisdom:
When a man gives a woman a yeast infection, it’s a STD. Just like AIDS, herpes or gonorrhea. You gave me a STD, Jughead!
The rest of the conversation went something like this:
Yes, you did…
No, I didn’t…
Yes, you did, Motherfucker…
No, I didn’t, You stupid bitch…
And so on and so forth. It was as if Socrates and Plato had encountered each other on Crossfire.
Now I had never thought of such a thing before – yeast infection as sexually-transmitted disease, and I’m not certain I’ve ever heard a doctor say anything like it. I tried to recall my high school hygiene classes, but because I went to an all-boys school yeast infections were not exactly a topic they covered very extensively. I do remember the list of STD’s, and yeah, AIDS, Herpes, The Clap, Chlamydia, Syphilis, Mycoplasma, Tricomoniasis, Genital Warts, Crabs and Scabies all came to mind, but I don’t remember “yeast infection” ever being on that list..
In fact, if I’m not mistaken (I have had girlfriends, after all), a yeast infection is most commonly caused by bad hygiene, or sometimes as a side effect of certain medications, but I have never heard of a case in which a dude managed to give a chick the dreaded two loaves disease with his fish.
So, I did a bit of research, and according to WebMD, a yeast infection is NOT considered a STD, and it’s more likely for a chick to give it to a guy than the other way around. Therefore, we must make the following assumptions, vis-a-vis this inappropriate phone call:
a. Tiffany is a cretin.
b. Tiffany is a lying cretin, because she couldn’t even make up a plausible lie.
c. Tiffany’s doctor is one you should never ever go to.
d. Tiffany’s school hygiene classes (assuming she hasn’t dropped out already) are spreading serious misinformation, and defining the standards of STD way, way down.
e. Jughead has terrible taste in females.
In the meantime, I have been left with the memory of Tiffany and Jughead and their interminable argument as to whether or not her ability to spontaneously generate pumpernickel is his fault, an act of God, or the work of Satan, or an Obama Green Energy "Investment". Try as I might, I can’t get this conversation out of my head, mostly because I’ve been too busy laughing my ass off.
Despite the fact that I have thoroughly enjoyed rehashing the entire scene on the Jumbotron inside my skull, I seriously do wish that Tiffany and Jughead had exercised a little bit more discretion, and that cellphone manufacturers would seriously consider taking the goddamned speakerphone option off all future models.
P.S. As an aside, while researching this whole yeast infection tomfoolery, I accidentally discovered that some African-American women claim that they use Monistat 7 to promote hair growth. They're calling this miracle of beauty "“Coochie Cream”, and quite frankly I find this thought even funnier than the sordid saga of Tiffany and Jughead! If anyone else has ever heard or come across this, please let me know, because this is one of those strange aspects of human behavior that both baffles me, and makes me pee my own pants with laughter.
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