And The Lady Bits Are Okay

Yesterday I went in for the annual lady bits appointment. To make sure that I don't have a third elbow or something growing in the girl cave (already have a number of extra elbows, thanks), and to make sure that I get a renewed prescription for the all-important birth control pills. Because if I want to remain happy, I have to continue getting 8-10 hours of sleep a night and avoid chapped nipples. And if I want to keep getting 8-10 hours of sleep a night and avoid chapped nipples, I have to remain baby-free. And if I want to remain baby-free, I have to let a stranger stick her salad tongs in my snatch. Am I the only one who thinks these things (the pills, maaaaybe the salad tongs) should be in every vending machine? Right next to the Kit Kats and the Nut Rolls. Actually, Nut Rolls shouldn't be in any vending machine. Am I the only one who's been in line behind the food stamp-toting lady whose five kids are picking through the Rolos while the cashier runs like twenty gallons of blue drink over the scanner? I'm trying to decrease the national debt here. So a vending machine full of birth control pills, and another vending machine right next to it full of pamphlets that make the Pope look silly. Not hard to do, people. Multi-packs of Microgestin right up by the registers. They should come in different flavors, different colors. Hell, make them look like Flintstones Vitamins. Stop in the name of a good night's sleep and buttery soft nipples, you silly eggs. The Great Gazoo said so.