Sometimes You Just Gotta Say....

I was perusing Drugstore.com the other day looking for replacement brush heads for my Sonicare toothbrush.

Me, being the frugal shopper that I am, browsed around to see if there was anything else I couldn't "live without" that would push my purchase price into the free shipping category.

I hate to pay for shipping if I don't have to.

I quickly flipped through a page in the "health" section and a big red "Whhaaaa?" lit up in my head.

So I went back.

To a product that is called the "Myself Pelvic Muscle Trainer".

Huh?

A personal PELVIC muscle trainer?

Is it something like a Thighmaster?

No.

Apparently the "Myself" is a "clinically-proven kegel exercise trainer for resolving incontinence, increasing vaginal tone, and enhancing intimacy."

Although I'm pretty sure that every woman in the stratosphere already knows what Kegel exercises are, I'm operating under the assumption that there might be a couple of manly lurkers who haven't run away screaming yet.

Kegel exercises are designed for women to strengthen their pelvic floors. In other words, they basically work the same set of muscles that control the flow of pee.

Traditionally in the past, women's magazines and the Total Woman Handbook (foisted on us at puberty by the period-fairy along with perfumed douches, a secret handshake and a "welcome to the club" speech which included a gift basket full of embarrassment in regards to our natural bodily functions) brought us information about Kegels.

They made it seem as if it was practically a womanly duty to perform these exercises routinely as a way to keep our future men satisfied. If we didn't, they'd go running off to the Caymans at age 45 with a bimbette named Tammi, her thong, and the kids' college funds.

That was before Lorena Bobbitt brought a whole new dimension to the playing field, but I'm digressing.

The beauty of Kegels is that this workout can be performed any where, any time, and doesn't require any equipment, like dumbbells (you can leave him at home) or knee pads (sorry, Monica!).

Squinch and release. Squinch and release.

Theoretically, if you do this every day, ultimately you'll have a crotch of steel.

It's like a secret Superpower just for women.

Women can do Kegels while we're driving the Hummer (getting our girl on!) or watching TV. We can do them on the sidelines at soccer games or while singing in the choir.

We can even do them at business meetings.

Next time a man is chairing a meeting and being particularly pompous, patriarchal or pedantic (believe me, some of those dinosours are still around), look at the women in the room.

If they appear to be especially serene (not bored or irritated) they're probably thinking, "Yeah, Buddy. One flex and I could rip your dick off."

That's why I'm wondering-why-oh-why-somebody came up with a gadget when none is really required? And what exactly does it do?

Evidently, the "Myself" measures how strong your vaginal squeeze is.

Yes. You heard it right.

"How does it do that?" you might ask.

You have to stick an inflatable (and disposable---you can buy replacements for 9.99) sensor UP INTO YOUR GIRLY PARTS to measure your strength when you squinch! Then the information goes from the sensor to a handheld monitor which shows you your crotchety progress with a smiley face or something like that.

Yikes! And well, YIKES!

How about a big honking WTF for good measure?!!

On top of the revolting squickiness, this gadget kind of reminds me of a BowLingual---the dog language translator that was a popular gift item a few years ago.

You stick a sensor on your dog's collar, and when she barks, it translates on a little monitor with emoticon faces that say everything from "I'm Needy!" to "Feed me, Bitch!"

The "Myself" tells you WHEN to squinch and release. As if your squinch timing is a precise, complicated, scientific calculation. Doh!

Additionally, it trains you through 3 different strength levels.

But what KIND of strength levels? And what kind of faces does it display to mark your progress?

Inquiring minds and all...

Level 1: Wet dishrag (big sad frowny with a teardrop face)
Level 2: Cracking Walnuts (lavicious eye wink face)
Level 3: Breaking Brass Bolts* (your choice of Gene Simmons, Colin Ferrell or generic Himbo screaming in agony face)

Seriously, this must be some kind of joke---a way to "squeeze" out 79+ bucks on a Superpower any woman can develop for free. Pun intended.

Why buy a "Myself" for something I can do...well...by myself?

Anybody else see the irony in that?

Somewhere the person behind this is laughing maniacally all the way to the bank.

*With Apologies to The Fugs