Mormons and Vaginas

My co-worker/boss Elissa and I have been interviewing students to participate in our summer internship program. Right now we’re meeting with Public Health and Creative Arts in Therapy students, who attend the campus in Center City. Because I’m hardly at this campus, I don’t many of these students, in many cases, these interviews are the first time I meet them. So I was pleasantly surprised when a cute boy I didn’t know came into the interview room. He seemed smart, bright and interested in community service and so my “hmmm, interesting” antenna started sending signals to my brain. But with all cute, smart, bright and interesting boys, when they seem too good to be true, they probably are. My first indication was when he mentioned that he grew up in Utah. When he said a couple minutes later that he wanted to stay in Philadelphia this summer because he was involved in his church, my heart sank.
I knew what was wrong with him.
He’s a Mormon.
Mormons wear special underwear, breed prolifically and have a historical tradition of polygamy, it’s just not my game.

Tonight I braved the Nor’easter that’s dumping snow on the east coast (I’ve heard of Nor’easters, but I think this may be my first intimate contact with one) to be a volunteer usher at the Vagina Monologues at the Prince Music Theater. I’d never seen the Vagina Monologues until tonight, and I’m glad I saw it. I’ve read snippets of it, but there is nothing like seeing it live. Much has been written about the VM, I don’t think I have anything new or groundbreaking to add, except that it made me realize how lucky I am. I’ve always had a pretty darn good relationship with my vagina. We get along pretty well, in fact, I’m awfully fond of it. (On another note, I have to say that being a volunteer usher is one of the best secrets I’ve discovered recently. Donate an extra hour or two and see the show for free. I love it!).


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