Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Kegs & Kegel's

Whenever I hit the road, I feel a giddy sense of freedom.  I drive with the windows and the top of my trusty little convertible down, and pump up the jams.  I am, after all, a child of the 80's and 90's.

State 1 on my route to Canada is Indiana.  It's as Midwestern as it gets.   I spent a few years at college in Bloomington, mostly forgetting about things like responsibility and chores.  I zoom down I-65 and decide to cut down to the old Hoosier campus to visit a few ghosts of the past and see how much of it remains the same.  I have a hankering for old limestone and brick.

I stop there for the night and visit my old haunts as I haven't been back since leaving school in 2002.  Which was, dear God, eight years ago. 

Each time I end a relationship, I go through a period of rebirth.  One of them is inevitably physical.  I boost the pain-satisfaction of my workout routine (no, really, I can have a six-pack and eat cake daily).  Included in this routine are Kegel's.  Essential to any woman who strives towards having more than satisfactory sex.  Sex is a monster for me.  One I love.  And so, I embrace Kegel's.   I do them everywhere.  As I stand in the checkout line, while on a conference call, during a long conversation with the coffee guy - and most particularly, while driving.

One and two and three and four and one and two and three and four and one and two and three and four.  And one and oops. 

Perhaps I should have paid better attention to the speed limit.  Blue lights flash behind me.  I pull over, still clenching and releasing, as I wait for the cop to get out of his car.  My mind pauses briefly on the thought that he may be hot, and I could play to that.  After all, how fast was I going?

The cop is old.  And fat.  And a woman.  This does not bode well for me.  I am on an adventure.  I am recreating myself.  I am in a period of rejuvenation.  The cop frowns at me.  I am totally fucked.

"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?"

"Um...?"

"Mmhm," the cop says, "And why were you speeding?"

"Um...Kegel's?"

"Mmhm," comes the officer's automatic response with a head nod, followed by two quick blinks of her eyes as she registers what I said and a guffawed "Huhwhat?"

"Kegel's," I tell her, deciding to dedicate myself to the truth and plunge forward, "Gotta maintain, officer. Gotta keep my hoo-ha in fighting shape. See, I'm single now. And I'm on an adventure to find Mr. Right. And Mr. Right will want a fit hoo-ha to come home to every night. So . . . Kegel's. It was the Kegel's that did it, officer."

The cop stares at me.  Which is fair.  "Ma'am," she says, "Do you think you could do those at home next time?"

It was worth a shot.  As I pull back onto the road, I wonder when the last time was she exercised her lady parts.

2 comments:

Chris said...

Nice post.

The Lost Romantic said...

Thanks, Chris! Please feel free to pass this blog onto your friends, family, etc. I am still new to the idea of marketing myself to the world of blog. I hope people who read this will enjoy it. If nothing else, for a laugh.