I Must Confess...It's Tuesday #3

~The goggles and the helmet are so fetching, no?

When I was 23, and childless, I went skydiving. Why yes. Once upon a time I was stupid extreme! I was much more willing to engage in risky behavior pre-motherhood. That has since changed. I only went the once and that was quite enough, thanks. I did it just so I could say that I did. Now that I've said it, I guess it's paid off? And no, I did not yell "Geronimo" whilst exiting the plane. Unless "Geronimo" is pronounced: ohshitohshitohshitohshit! Which, I don't think it is. And that is what I said. Anyway, a funny thing happens when you're hurdling towards Earth from 12,500 feet at 100mph (or something. physics doth confuse me): The all encompassing fear that A) you could quite possibly be falling to your death and you're almost sure of it, and B) that the only thing that's going to keep you alive is a piece of nylon [probably made in China] and an instructor [who may or may not have been made in China] strapped to your back and you're still not really convinced that it will; this fear prevents you from realizing one crucial element in your skydiving experience. And that is you have no control over what happens to your flight suit once that ripcord is pulled. When the chute releases, the force nestles your suit firmly against your uterus. And you get this image captured for posterity:
(Yeah right! Like I'm going to put THAT picture on my blog! No. My fear is that it would become one of those Internet phenomena that sweeps through message boards and inboxes with captions like "Worlds Most Invasive Camel Toe" or "Where On Earth Has Her Zipper Gone?" or "Atomic Wedgie Gone Seriously Wrong" or simply, "Ouch", and while I'm all for some notoriety; "The woman whose fully clothed vagina can be accurately described in GREAT DETAIL!" isn't exactly the kind I would actively seek. I mean, I want ya all to know me I just don't want you to KNOW me, if you know what I mean.)

So, friends, if you're contemplating skydiving, remember: This catastrophe could be you. And consider this your only warning. Do not come back to me crying about your injured cervix; and that at a very tender and inopportune moment you discovered that your vagina has malfunctioned. And if you're a man? My condolences. All I can say is...RIP.