Public Service Announcement

In a previous post, I mentioned bacterial vaginosis, and that I would touch upon it at a later date. Today is that date.

I am going to try to keep this simple and to the point.

I did not know what bacterial vaginosis (hereafter to be called BV) was until I was lamenting to a friend about some recent sexual (or non-sexual, to be more precise) relations I had. You see, I was all set to (insert title of famous Petula Clark song here), when BAM! my nose was knocked backwards by, well, pretty much the worst thing I've ever sniffed. I lost all desire to have sex right then and there. I had to make up some lame excuse and we didn't do anything. It was TERRIBLE! The entire night I was mad that she was getting her stink all over my clean sheets. That's how bad it was.
Buuuuuut I thought maybe it was a one-time thing, and so she came over again a couple weeks later. Still.the.same.
It was like a carton of rotten milk combined with one of those smells-like-smoke scratch 'n sniff stickers you get on fire safety day in second grade.
So again, there was no sex. At this point I look:
a. impotent
b. gay
c. all of the above

ANYWAY, when I complained to two lesbian friends about this (that's how I roll), one mentioned that it was probably BV, which I had never heard of. And after learning what it was, I determined this is what the girl had.
I don't know if my diagnosis is correct, but I did not have the heart to tell her she should get it checked out. I'm sorry. There are just some things I can't do. Telling a girl to get her BV checked is one of them.

So ladies, the moral of the story is this: If your fella is completely put-off by your clamshell, you might wanna think about polishing that pearl.