I have this thing on my eye, both of them actually. It’s this flap of skin that folds down over the lid, so for example when I am putting on eyeshadow- on the crease of my lid where the flap folds over the eyeball part there is always this line of makeup that gets caked up inside.
I also notice that the flap of skin loosens near the end of my eye and there is now a small pocket of flesh that is always drooping downward. It’s a big enough pocket that I could push a kernel of corn up into it and the skin flap would hold the kernel in place.
I recently complained about this to a friend and she tells me that my face is falling and that this is the first sign of ageing.
Which is why I signed up for the Jade Egg Vaginal Weightlifting Class.
In Chinese medicine your pelvic floor is directly connected to your facial muscles. Weak pelvic floor-saggy face. Strong pelvic floor- a natural facelift. Not to mention you can grasp a cock in the vice grip of your vagina. Not to mention you will give birth easier and faster. Not to mention I have really no idea what’s going on down there-unless it smells bad- so I figure I should learn a little bit about my sexual palace.
I get there late and they have already started. It’s not my fault I don’t know how to use an intercom.
There are about 12 of us and the room is small, so small that our knees bump against each other when we are trying to insert the jade egg. One falls out, “Oops sorry, excuse me,” a woman says as she waddles across the circle to retrive it.
One womans sarong falls off and I see the biggest bush I could have ever imagined. Like, I wouldn’t have exaggerated it that big. Like, I wonder how it doesn’t poof out her skirt like a helium balloon. I want to high five her for rocking so hard what God gave her.
Our teacher is more up to date pubic hair style wise. She also seems to have a penchant for the provocative as she is sitting with her legs splayed out in front of us with no underwear on showing us a powerpoint presentation of the female sexual organs. All I can focus on is her waxed sea monster.
We do circles with our hips, clenching our perineum to keep the egg in. Another egg drops out and rolls under a pillow and another women skitters like a crab across the circle to find it. I suppose I should mention that no one has looked each other yet. We are all looking downcast, or staring at shoulders across the room. It’s just too intimate for eye contact, this connecting to ourselves thing…
We add on breast self-massage into the mix now. 9 circles in one direction, 9 in the other, to balance and stimulate our feminine essence. The hip circles get bigger and wilder as the facilitator cranks The Mathew Good Band on her stereo. I have to say, for the situation I am in right now- it’s the perfect musical choice.
I think I’m winning so far.
My egg just won’t fall out, even when I push down a bit. Granted, most of these women are here because they piss themselves after having too many babies and I just want to get rid of my eye bags.
So the egg is in me and attached to the egg is a string that attaches to a pouch that dangles at the knees. You can put rocks, shells or a cell phone in to weight the bag. Ala “weight lifting”. It is supposed to feel like it is almost going to fall out so you have to really clench but nothing is working for me. I waddle into the bathroom and find a full bottle of cough syrup in the cupboard. I put it in the pouch and yes!…it falls out. I dump a ¼ of the syrup down the drain and it’s the exact weight I need.
As I come out of the bathroom she tells us to close our eyes and “really get into the music.” I try, I really, really try. I sway. I rock.
“Humming or moaning helps” she says, so I try that too. Damn it! I want to connect to other women. I want to be cool with my pussy. I want to move like a goddess but instead I’m starring in a clown show- and can’t help it, I start to laugh.
With the eggs still in and me shaking in hysterics we reach to the sky and bring down sacred divine feminine essence from above and we pack it into our sexual palace.
She asks us how we are feeling and one woman says “liberated” another says “vibrant.” I say “totally ridiculous” because connecting with my divine feminine in a condo full of strange vaginas for $100 bucks an hour with a domanitrix is comedy gold.
I laugh and laugh- because It shouldn’t be this hard, it shouldn’t be work. I feel my sacred femininity at home alone in my bathtub with a good book, chocolate pudding and my ratty grade 10 nightie.
We push the eggs out and throw them in our purses.
I put my bike helmet on and run like hell for the door.
I have to say though, I think I look much younger today.