My mom always told me, there are Jackies and there are Marilyns. There are girls who get married and girls who serve as cautionary tales. I'm a Jackie (sort of) and this is my Marilyn….
Junior year in college I was friends with a co-ed who was known around campus as Sexler (actual surname Wexler, you get the idea). Sexler was a great gal to be friends with. She could get us into any club, bar, restaurant, party because she was sleeping with the bouncer, bartender, matre'd, keg tapper, you get the idea.
I had a friend who slept with her and he said afterwards, although he'd never been with one, he imagined it was what banging a prostitute would be like. She knew exactly what she was doing.
It came as no surprise then when she developed a serious yeast infection. Her yeast had been kneaded pretty hard. Luckily, her medical condition didn't slow down her social life at all. She simply made sure to have a large tube of Vagisil handy whenever we went out. Depending on the size of her clutch, she would occasionally ask one of us non-infected to hang onto it. If she needed a hit she would use the code word "sil" as a reference. Unfortunately, after a few cocktails, I became forgetful and would refer to it as her tube of "vag". Easy mistake.
This being college, we often went to sporting events (truth: our college was not known for its athletic department and this was the only game I ever attended, also the experience was traumatic, as you'll see). I happened to get my hand on 4 front row tickets to a basketball game. I invited Sexler, a mutual friend, and a totally unacquainted pal who we'll call Caitlin (cause that's her name). The four of us piled into the back seat of a cab and headed off to the arena. The cab traveled exactly one block before stopping at a red light at which point Sexler, who had been twisting and squirming the entire block, suddenly started shaking her head, opened the cab door and said, "I'm sorry. No. I can't do this." (First time those words ever fell out of her mouth.) She proceeded to leap out of the cab and RUN home. Although our mutual friend understood why sitting still had become too much for Sexler, poor Caitlin was confused and horrified. I was a poli sci major but that's a tough situation to spin, let me tell you.
Here's the moral for all the young ladies reading this: when your sex life makes it difficult to endure a cab ride, take a moment to pause and consider whether or not you're on your way to becoming the cautionary tale.