I would bathe it and give it a good meal. Then I would sit in my favorite rocker with it on my lap while we watched reruns of Diagnosis Murder on A&E. I would sip my tea and do my crosswords, all the while stroking my vagina and playing with its soft, freshly bathed fur.
Over time I would begin to teach my vagina tricks, eventually getting good enough to the point where we'd be invited to the Ed Sullivan Theater to do Letterman's stupid pet tricks segment. After a brief moment in the spotlight where 2 million Americans coast to coast see my vagina on national TV, I'd return home to my normal mundane life of building model windmills out of dried mustard plugs, collecting air sickness bags from various international airlines, and working 9 to 5 in the styrofoam packing peanut factory.
Overtime my relationship with my vagina would deteriorate as we grew further apart, leading our own separate lives. I with my paint huffing habit, and my vagina's weakness for the sauce and of track betting addiction, we would begin to see one another as different people than when we first met. Ultimately we would go our separate ways, but not before one last moonlit stroll down the boulevard, to remind ourselves of of the good times we shared. Would would not speak to one another, just reminisce in silence, then part ways at the end of the cobblestone path in front of the Baskin Robins that used to be a shop that sold porcelain Copenhagen figurines, but burned down last April when the owner tried to commit insurance fraud. They put him in jail for 6 years and his wife died soon after due to her long battle with cystic fibrosis.
In my golden year, as I sat before the fireplace crocheting thick wool sweaters for the children who've fallen victim to war in Zimbabwe, I would gaze up every so often to glance at the old sepia photograph of me and my vagina in Old West costumes taken at the county fair in Grand Rapid, Michigan. As the memories of the funnel cakes and the many laughs we shared came rushing back, a solitary tear would fall gracefully from my cheek and evaporate on the hot limestone of the hearth.
