My labia lips are like floppy rabbit ears.
The ears hang low;
They wobble to and fro.
I could tie them in a knot;
I could tie them in a bow.
My last boyfriend preferred to eschew this simile, in favour of his own.
“I love your labia lips, Jess” he assured me. He said that my vagina was like a pink rose.
“Have you ever seen inner petals that long? Longer than the outside petals?”
Overgrown petals deserve pruning.
“Rogers, Jessica?” The nurse calls.
As I walk behind her, I tell myself that this is the last time I will feel those ears rubbing and twisting together between my thighs with every step.
I lie on the operating table; the surgeon slices the overgrowth off with a laser scalpel. As he sews me up, he tells me that the recovery time is 48 hours and to wait for the stitches to dissolve before having sex again.
I ask the surgeon if he’d like to go on a date with me after my stitches dissolve. He declines.
At least I only sport bunny ears on my head now.
No more ears below,
only a hole.