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September 26, 2013 / MissSteele

You Want Me to Do What with Crisco?

Nothing really screams “something is wrong with me” like sneezing blood, and when I was in college I had a particularly bad mamajama of a sinus infection. I decided it was in my best interest to get some antibiotics, but that would have involved a trip to the school’s student clinic, and I really did not want to go there.

Don’t get me wrong- I’m glad the school provided us with a health care facility to seek treatment for minor ailments, foot fungi, STDs and whatever else crazy kids pick up these days. That’s all great and peachy. It’s just that I avoided going there because my previous experience was a bit weird. I went there because I thought I had strep throat, and I was forced to take a pregnancy test even though I insisted it was unnecessary. Then, I was put into a room where a nurse came in to lecture me for 45 minutes about the dangers of sexual activity and STDs.

When I tried interrupting her to say I was there for strep throat, not Chlamydia, she said these lectures were part of a “new University policy” at the clinic, and that every student who came for treatment had to endure the lecture. Apparently, even the ones who were not sexually active at the time. So, that was fun. I went there to get a proper diagnosis for strep so I could get some antibiotics, and instead I was forced to look at gruesome pictures of herpes sores and genital warts while being asked if I knew how to properly use a condom. Let me tell you, nothing really makes a sick person feel better than looking at pictures of vaginas with cauliflower blooming all over them.

I’ll never look at that damn vegetable the same way again.


But, let me just say- I get it. College students are at high risk for contracting STDs due to their unapologetic promiscuity and all that jazz. I understand the University felt the need to implement some sort of system to educate people about the dangers of sexual activity, but I don’t believe the clinic was  the most effective place for such an event. The way I see it- if they are already coming to the clinic because they feel a burning sensation in their crotch, the lecture is a little moot at that point. But, whatever.

It wasn’t until I started asking other people about their experiences at the clinic that I realized I may have been targeted by that nurse because no one else seemed to have participated in the Stay STD-Free Palooza to which I bared witness. Maybe she thought I was a brazen hussy and needed a stern lecture about not getting crabs. Then, I felt sort of insulted. Why me? I didn’t look slutty that day. I mean- I was wearing a school hoodie and jeans, not a tube top and booty shorts. I came in for strep throat, not syphilis. I began to wonder if she even worked there at all.

She could have been like that barista at the coffee shop that time who came up to me while I was studying, handed me an iced coffee and said, “Here, I made this special for you.” I didn’t drink it because I saw him rip his apron off and leave the shop. Upon questioning a different barista, I found out he didn’t even work there. He was just some weirdo who waited until no one was looking, put on an apron and started making iced java for unsuspecting strangers. Perhaps it was part of fraternity shenanigans or something.  But that, my friends, is a true story.

Anyway, the facts-gonorrhea-party happened the last time I went in there, so I didn’t really feel like reliving the experience over a sinus infection. I had every intention of not going back, but my sinus infection was making my life miserable and I swore I felt the cold, icy hand of death creep onto my shoulder at one point. So, I prepared for the worst and went to the clinic.

To my delight, I was able to skip The Clap and The Crabs’ Puppet Show this time around. I actually thought I was going to get out of that experience unscathed. I was wrong.

We are crabs...we hide in bed sheets and toilet seats...then pinch your nuts with our feet.

We are crabs…we hide in bed sheets and toilet seats…then pinch your nuts with our feet. Thank you, Dave Chappelle.

The doctor appeared to be in his late fifties, and he was a little odd. And by that, I mean he was awfully concerned about my vagina. He started telling me that sinus infections were common for that time of the year because the weather was fluctuating so badly and whatnot. Then, the conversation escalated quickly from the unpredictable weather to my girly parts when he said, “This weather can cause dryness in all places.”

“Oh, ok,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“Be sure to lotion everything up real good after you take showers,” he said. “That helps to protect against dry skin.”

“Ok,” I said as my Creep-Odometer starting going off like crazy.

“And, you may notice your vagina feels a bit dry.”

WHAT THE FUCK DID HE JUST SAY? I was so confused, I didn’t know how to respond to that. I had never really had a dry vagina problem before, so I wasn’t really sure what he was talking about.

“If you feel like your vagina is getting a little dry, try rubbing some peanut oil or Crisco on your vulva,” he said with a straight face.

I didn’t know what to say to that. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to make another awkward joke or if he was being sincere, so I just sat there in silence.

“I know it sounds weird, but it will really make a difference. Just be sure to rub it in really well. You could even use olive oil if you prefer.”

After he went on for what felt like hours about rubbing cooking lard on my hoo-ha, I was finally able to leave. I left bewildered and somewhat curious about the hidden uses of Crisco. I also left wondering if maybe everyone who worked at that clinic were just volunteers off the street with no credentials whatsoever. Then, I began wondering what my next trip to the grocery store would look like if someone I knew happened to see me pushing around a giant cart of Crisco and peanut oil.

They would ask, “Oh, you must be planning on cooking a whole bunch, huh?”

And I would say, “Actually, no. This is for my vagina.”

So, I guess it’s a good thing I never felt the need to actually go and buy the Crisco for that purpose.

This some potent shit.

This some potent shit.

Naturally, when I told my friend about what the good ‘ole doc recommended, she freaked out and asked, “He really wants you to slather Crisco all over your snatch?! You are joking!”

But, I wasn’t. After I assured her that he was being 100% sincere in this advice, she said this little gem that has stuck with me for ages, “Well, if you do decide to Crisco-up your downstairs, be sure to avoid the tanning bed. You wouldn’t want your cooch to fry up like a piece of bacon.”

Beautiful. Beautiful wisdom.



Leave a Comment
  1. Sean Smithson / Sep 26 2013 9:47 pm

    1 – I didn’t know that you guys used snatch? I thought that was our word?

    2 – Cooch is definitely your word and much funnier.

    3 – What happened to ‘word to your mother’?

    • MissSteele / Sep 27 2013 1:26 pm

      1- “You guys” as in women? Or “you guys” as in Americans? Either way, it’s just a funny word.I have one, so I reckon I can call it whatever I want. Except Woolybooger. I don’t really like that word at all.

      2- Cooch is my favorite word.

      3- I couldn’t bring myself to steal Vanilla Ice’s sign-off phrase. I’m more of a Rick James kind of girl. lol

  2. Aunt Shey / Sep 27 2013 1:41 pm

    OMG Frigging Hilarious 😉

    • MissSteele / Sep 27 2013 1:58 pm

      Who knew? The Crisco label should read “Doctor recommended for dry vaginas.”

  3. snoogiefisk / Oct 11 2013 3:35 pm

    Er Ma Gerd! You’re killin’ me! Oh, and I’m stalking your page today. Somehow I missed some of your posts.

    • MissSteele / Oct 11 2013 3:41 pm

      Ha! I’m stalking yours right now as we speak (type?) lol! I haven’t written a new one in a week…I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately


  1. The Wisdom of Going Through | My Blog, aka, Sorry My Mind Must Have Wandered

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