My Vagina, My Way

It seems that, for every fertilized egg, a thousand crazies are spawned. I’ve always been bothered by the level of stupidity and sheer audacity of today’s society, but until two years ago, I was completely unaware of how out of control people truly are. Obviously, people don’t just appear out of thin air (my mangled vagina is proof of this), but it seems that the real idiots lay low until you get pregnant.

It’s evident that a round belly and raging hormones are less a symbol of fertility and happy beginnings and more of a brightly-lit neon sign, encouraging useless advice and ridiculous comments on one’s life choices. A baby’s cries are not those of hunger or fear,  rather, they are a foghorn, beckoning inconsideration and general lack of basic tact.

In what capacity did it become okay, as a stranger, to add your input into the life of someone already struggling to keep their shit together? When did it become commonly acceptable to

I’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of encountering far too many of these imbeciles, and I’ve noticed a rise in the level of uncouth in direct correlation with age. The older they are, the more bold, disrespectful, and all-around distasteful the conversation becomes.

One such example of the idiocy I’ve had to deal with took place in a restaurant not too long ago:

I was wrangling a fidgety Piggle, while trying to coax him into staying still long enough to nurse, decide what I wanted to eat, and keep the cutlery from flying across the room and impaling an innocent bystander.

I should have let the forks fly.

As Piggle wiggled his way , I noticed a graying woman ogling me with a look of pure disgust written on her face. I wondered what I could have possibly done to offend this woman when I was so busy with the 8 million other things going on in that moment, that adding ‘ruin old lady’s day’ was far from the top of my priority list.

At that point, Sir Squirmy popped off the boob to make a break for the salt shaker, and the little old lady got an eyeful of slobbery nipple. Not exactly appetizing, but if she’d had any kind of s, it was no new phenomenon.

I cannot even begin to describe how quickly her face changed colors. She glowed with every shade of red, purple, and blue imaginable, and her features mottled instantly with pure anger and hatred.

It was then that I clued into the reason behind her staring in the first place.

Public breastfeeding.

Shame on me for not catching on sooner and putting a stop to the most natural act in the world. I should have known better than to feed my child.

As I rushed to cover myself up, I glanced up at her with what I hoped was a terrifying, “I-triple-dog-dare-you-to-say-something” look, and it appears that I’m pretty convincing because she rose from her seat and headed my way.

Generally speaking, I’d be slightly intimidated by a tiny, frail woman daring enough to confront someone who could break her hip with a sneeze, but by that point, I was so hopping mad that I graciously welcomed the conflict.

She informed me immediately that I was a disgrace to women everywhere and that it was obvious that I have no self-respect, for why else would I have so nonchalantly displayed my private parts in a public setting.

She went on t0 question my relationship with my father, assuming, I guess, that I was a stripper by the name of Sparkles McGee with daddy-drama and an exhibitionist streak. She continued to berate my choice to breastfeed, both for doing it publicly and at my son’s age, stating that if I chose to pervert my child in that way, then it was in God’s hands, but that she did not want to witness the destruction of a perfectly pure soul, so to take it to the bathroom.

By this point, I was livid, but rather than make a scene at the restaurant, I coolly informed her that my choice to nurse my child was based on nothing more than a desire to give him the best start to life and keep the fat of my hips (this shit burns mad calories, people). I then invited her to join me for dinner in the washroom, as it seemed to me she felt this an appropriate place to eat. I explained to her that if she was unwilling to dine on the back of a toilet seat, then my son should not be expected to comply differently.

I then asked her to leave my table and allow my family to continue their meals in peace…that, and I reminded her that she would be dead soon, so this conversation was really a waste of the time she had left. (No, I’m not implying that I was going to fashion a shiv out of the soup spoon and meet her in the parking lot for a post-dinner rumble….she was old. Old people die. The end.)

The long and the short longer of this is that far too many people want to stick their noses into your life. Having children seems to grant them some unspoken permission to do so almost casually. From now on, simply stop them mid-sentence, and ask them this: “Does what you have to say/ask pertain to anything that involved your vagina?” Unless their answer is yes, you now have full permission to kick them in the ovaries for continuing to bother you.

Just remember: Your Vagina, Your Way. (I should trademark that shit…)

If you’ve had run-ins with asshats, too, leave a comment and tell me all about it!!


Good For you love. I had the same thing happen to me at a Costco while feeding Ali. Except that she said her husband was present and it was “just wrong and disgusting” to do it in front of a man. I told her if she wouldn’t eat in the bathroom, neither would my daughter. She stormed off saying how “rude, disgusting and perverted” I was being. LOL. Also, while at Safeway, a woman walked up, put her hand on Ali’s forehead and preceded to tell me she had a fever and need Tylenol and Motrin alternated. And it was due to teething. NO SHIT DUMB ASS! I knew she had a fever and it wasn’t due to teething. She had a double ear infection and we were waiting on her antibiotics! People…..


I once had a coworker inform me that she was pretty sure my son was hungry. Then when I fed him, she insisted he was still hungry. I’m the one who gets up with him every night, I’m pretty sure I know better. Or my mother in law! She’s a hoot, I shouldn’t take him outside until 3 months to avoid pollens that will give him allergies (there’s also a dog and cat in the house.) or that I should put liquor on his soft spot after a bath to prevent him from catching a cold… I’m sure I have a million others tucked away in my brain somewhere

My daughter will be two in November and she is “still on the boob.” as people like to ask! Yes, she is. But we have yet to have an Asshat confront us. I think the Universe knows better!


About a month after I had my son (born June of 11) I was in walmart and this old lady walks by and looks at my son in his carrier and says to me “i sure hope thats a baby doll in that buggy. All these babies having babies, that’s why the world is so bad now and it’s only getting worse.” I do look young for my age (23 at the time) but this really pissed me off. I was laready having a bad day and i unloaded on her. I told her that I was 23 years old and it was none of her damn buisness. I also informed her that if I had been a teen mom what the hell did she think she was helping. The last thing a young mother needs is a grouchy old bitty running her nosey ass mouth. These girls are dealing with enough without some holyier than thouh old bitch turning her nose to them. I told her that her and her mouth where part of the reason the world is like it is and if she couldn’t be encouraging she need to keep her trap closed. She appoligized and my friend that was with me nearly keeled over with laughter becuase i am not usually a confrontational person.


People are constantly asking if my daughter is still on the boob. It drives me nuts, like the status of my mammary glands is any of their business?! Not to mention all the people who are so quick to judge her. She’s tiny, (probably genetic) and people just LOOOVE to make comments on how she is “too small” or “looks like a 9 month old”. She’s 16 months old and healthy thank you very much. People need to keep their stupid thoughts and opinions to themselves.

Jill Pinnella Corso

Did you really remind her that she’d be dead soon? I hate myself for how much I love that.

I work in a small company and we are all very close. My (male) CEO, who had visited and met my daughter while I was on maternity leave, knew I was breastfeeding. This was no secret but I tried not to advertise the pumping so much, mostly because I work with 90% men and its not a great topic for conversation. I travelled a lot for work, so my pump was a constant companion. The incident that sticks out in my mind was when I was at our biggest trade show, and I excused myself and grabbed my pump bag headed for the ladies’ room during my break. But my CEO saw me on my way out and managed to say (loud enough for my colleagues and the customers in our booth to hear), “going to pump again, huh?” I was completely humiliated! He didn’t even realize it bothered me, he definitely didn’t mean it to, he just really is that clueless about the faux pas. I’m only surprised he didn’t ask how many ounces I got when I returned, haha!

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