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The girl is crafty like ice is cold

Christmas is coming, and all over this great Christian land of ours, office radios normally tuned to lite rock are stuck for the duration on Mannheim Steamroller.  Secretaries are breaking out their embellished sweaters.  Wrapped but empty boxes proliferate under fake workplace fir trees.  Amateurish decorations are being hung from between acoustic ceiling tiles with unbent paper clips.  And in my reproductive endocrinologist's waiting room, we lucky patients catch our breath to behold the wonder of the Christmas vagina.

I'm not making this up.  I walked in a couple of days ago for my first scan and there it was, big as life — bigger, and more frightening, actually — a paper snowflake vulva.

Some creative soul had been turned loose with the copy paper and a pair of scissors, and, in the course of producing a whole flotilla of cut-paper items intended to resemble snowflakes, rendered instead a gigantic, toothy, scary paper snatch, agape for all to enjoy.

Do join me in my reverential contemplation.  Do not be afraid to genuflect; we are all people of faith here.


That receptionist's name is Barb.  Please tell her hello.  She's nice.

Anyway, staring at this clever kirigami cooch gave me an idea.  Shouldn't all the clinic's snowflakes — and I use the term advisedly — be replaced with more occupationally appropriate facsimiles?

Obviously the answer is yes.

Now the easy part is done.  The hard part begins when I try to convince Barb of the rightness of my cause.  It may take some persuasion, but I'm confident I will prevail.  With the unstoppable serrated power of the Christmas vagina behind me, how on Earth could I fail?