Anne Nahm

Hi there. If you are not hip to reading a long and rambly story about my recent experience with what the medical community refers to as Harmonica Twat, then let’s meet up next week, shall we? Otherwise, here we go.

I was at the gym, running on the treadmill, this morning. I have run a few times over the course of my life. On a treadmill even. But I have not had too much experience running on the treadmill at this new gym. In fact, this is the second time I have run there.

Even the first time, (which was Wednesday) I noticed the first treadmill I chose was real … vibrate-y. Like maybe the tread was improperly aligned or something. But no. Second machine I tried was the same as the first. Whatever, right? I hopped on.

I did enjoy several fantasy scenarios during that first run (Wednesday). None especially kinky, despite the rumble-rumblely stuff. Although in one, I was on Knight Rider, driving KITT into the very satisfying (if totally improbable) back door penetration of a Mac Truck. Are you sure you want to do that, Michael? Oh yeah, I’m damn sure. Eighty miles per hour to a dead stop during the length of a half a car? Better grease yourself up for that kind of loving.

Anyway, this morning. I was a little less in love with running and therefore just listening to some music and jogging. Same rumble-rumbly. But after about twenty minutes in? My vaginal canal started to do some weird stuff. Vibrate-y stuff. Like it was humming or something.

It also felt a little like when I gave birth, but not the baby with the holy-jeebus-15 inch head circumference part. More like the afterbirth part, with the strange ‘slithering out’ sensation.

I don’t know what the hell happened down there. I expected to look and see either a) a lot of blood or b) a telephone and attached cord hanging out of my gym shorts. Neither was visible.

I tried to shake it off and slowed down to a walk. By then my crotch had gone totally Blues Traveler Harmonica solo with the vibrating. It was like when someone tickles you really hard and jeez, it doesn’t even tickle, it’s just separating your ribs out OUCH! EFFING STOP! But you still just laugh like a fool anyway.

Some guy looked at me, all smiley and curious to be in on the joke. But as I didn’t want to tell him I was just having a gigglish vaginal canal (which, PS, was totally not sexy at all. Not even with Jack White on my headphones) I just packed it in for the day. No blood or anything when I changed. I dunno.*

And since we are here in confession town, I had a play date at my house a couple of days ago and fully three people failed to even return my phone call to say they wouldn’t come. Usually when this happens, they just show up, which is a different kind of annoyance all together. But not this time. This time, nada.

One of the three called two days later to apologize. But the sick thing is, I’m kinda enjoying the small town melodrama of being pissy with the other two. I tap my fingers together ala Monty Burns and I smile and I wait. Because I know one of these days, they are gonna have to come crawling back. Muwhwhahahhahaha. So I guess bitch is my ice cream flavor this month. And guess what? It’s got hair in it.

* Although since he read it, my husband has been calling ‘pregnancy’, with the Matlock fact points of 1) ticklish vagina, 2) wanting to kick farm animals and other forms of Donald Duck style irritation (including but not limited to squawking unintelligently and wearing a shirt with no pants while doing so) 3) Sex dreams about Danny Bonaduce and 4) my unsolicited DEFCON-4 style crying, screaming temper tantrum last night over all the reasons having another baby right now would be the biggest ass chap since Velcro pubic hair. If so, this would be a ‘surprise’ since we are still using birth control, even though we are looking to start in that direction in a month or two anyway.