I saw the vagina monologues during the week in Trinity. I dont know what I was expecting. I watched a documentary with Eve Ensler and had seen snippets, and a few years ago, in a mortifying moment of extreme self confidence I'd even auditioned to be in it. I knew what I was getting myself into. As I watched the monologues that were punctuated with horror stories from the Congo and cautionary tales of how many people were raped and murdered so we could have mobile phones, I felt embarrassed. And it wasn't for the performances, which for the most part were really, really good.
I'm sure someone standing on the stage shouting "CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! CUNT!" while waving their fist at you is meant to be shocking, but it just wasn't. Tales of the joy of having a full bush and cumming for the first time probably should have felt liberating, but they just didn't. As the coochie snorchers, vulvas, and clitori rolled out, I felt red in my cheeks and heat on my neck. As I dabbed my (coincidentally) streaming eye I hoped that no one thought it was because I was overcome with emotion. Because I definitely wasn't.
Maybe its the filthy company I keep, or my sprightly age, or maybe (as I fear Eve might think) I'm secretly just a repressed dried up old vagina in need of a hand mirror and a hot bath.
4 comments:
i saw it years ago with Twink and Biddy.
sounds traumatic. wasn't.
Hmm. Maybe we're desensitised to it all.
I use cunt so liberally now I'm not sure I have a widely-accepted taboo word anymore.
But I am also very prudish at times. 50-50. Go figure.
Nothing could terrify me more.
Rosie: My friend paid 50 euro to see Glenda Gilson in it. Thats traumatic.
Sarah:I agree with you, you cunt.
Radge: I don't think theres a man alive who wouldn't agree with you on that one. Not a first date play.
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