Selecting womanhood

Today I am celebrating a year of a pleasurable and endlessly useful relationship with my mooncup. The actual anniversary of the start of our pleasurable and endlessly useful relationship was in May but I feel that I must be honest in light of having misplaced it for a month. Never again, moocup, never again. I have enjoyed the looks of awe (or it may at times have been disgust) from (usually) female amīcus-types, who are intrigued by the idea of them but have either thought you needed to be a proper hippie to use them, have been terrified of the idea of placing something that large inside their friendly bits or simply cannot get their heads around how one empties it.
This is a bit of a vagina monologue moment. I'm happy with my sex, as in gender, today. After the first few days, when the body is attacking itself for the stupidity of selecting womahood, I begin to appreciate having the potential to nourish life, whether or not it ever actually happens.
---
I dreamt of Tickle-hater for the first time last night. We went to this African-American church with lots of soul goodness and he refused to share a pew with me! I was so offended. He insisted on sitting in front because I had previously abandoned him at a Pakistani engagement party. I really don't know what to make of this. I woke up genuinely annoyed until I registered the ridiculousness of it enough to be simply confused.