Excuse me, car salesman? I have an insecurity about my body that I hope to solve by purchasing a flashy vehicle. I know I should love and accept myself the way I am, and I honestly do try to embrace body positivity. In my heart, I know that it’s what’s on the inside of a person that counts. But unfortunately for me, what’s on the inside is a super huge vagina.
That’s why I’ve come to this car dealership to purchase a vehicle so sleek, so compact, and so ridiculously out of my price range that people will look at me and say, “Damn, with a flashy car like that, I bet her cooter is as tight as Scrooge McDuck.”
I’m tired of driving around in my current car, a 1992 Ford Tempo that screams, “Her slot is looser than the ones at Circus Circus.”
I need a car that makes people assume my inside corset is cinched up like the waist of the main character in a Jane Austen novel.
I know, some people claim that size doesn’t matter. They say it’s not the size of the boat, but the motion in the ocean. Unfortunately for me, I’m not the boat in that metaphor.