My Punany Is Worth More than Barbie's

Barbie Dolls get more respect than some women I know. And I'm not being harsh -- I used to be one of them.

First, let's establish a visual: It's Christmas morning. A once-brand new Barbie doll's immaculate face is now forever branded with Samoan tribal markings in red and blue ink, partially accented with heavy black Sharpie marker. So, it's permanent and it's not coming off. Her hair is cut so short, she makes Demi Moore's G.I. Jane look like a spokeswoman for Herbal Essences shampoo. A nippleless, plastic boob is exposed. Oh, and her shoes are missing, but that's okay because so is one of her feet.

And all this damage was done before the Christmas ham hit the table for dinner!

Of course, mom and dad are ticked, and the Christmas spirit has "left the building" because little Carly has destroyed -- no, mutilated -- a $50 doll. (Her destructive younger brother Archie is responsible for amputating Barbie's foot.) Exasperated, mom and dad snatch little Carly's Barbie faster than she can utter "OMG!" Name-brand Barbie is later replaced with her "dollar store diva" cousin because Carly and Archie cannot be trusted to handle the real thing.

Then mom and dad lay this disclaimer on lilttle Carly (and Archie, too): "Until you learn to respect this gift and its value, you will no longer be allowed to have it. You can't have Barbie back until you show us you can respect the dollar store toy."

Here it comes y'all...

So, ladies, why do we let men who disrespect the punany continue to play with the punany??? Apparently, we've got more respect for a damned doll!!!

We demand more respect of our children for their toys than we do for our own bodies. Think about it. If the kids jack it up, we're quick to snatch it up (all the while mumbling something about money and trees). And don't go blaming the men. Ladies, ask yourselves this: If someone was willingly and freely giving you what you wanted and were making no demands in return, wouldn't you snatch it, too? That's how some men view some of us ladies and our precious punany.

And every day that we do this, every night we let him creep back to the crib, every time we allow the disrespect, we look a little more like that Barbie doll. Like her hair and shoes and missing foot, we give up a piece of ourselves every time we lay with men who don't respect us.

Like the doll's exposed plastic boob, we expose our souls to corruption. In fact, every time we lay with someone sexually, we create a soul tie. If you're a spiritual person, talk to your priest, pastor, bishop or minister about this. But know one thing: making that soul tie is what makes it so damned difficult to just walk away from men we fool ourselves into thinking are just "friends with benefits." We should be calling them "friends with detriments."

Ladies, you must understand you are not merely the sum of your parts. And you're damned sure not just a source of punany. You are more than the sum of your parts. It's not just about your physical body -- your face, your hips, your breasts, the punany. You've got a soul and a mind that need as much respect as the rest of you. What I realized is a man doesn't get my punany without getting everything else. It's a package deal. This is why when men "take" the punany, it feels like a piece of your mind and soul have been taken, too. Taken -- for granted.

It's a shame -- We allow men to enter our bodies and even after they've gone, damage is still being done to our minds and souls.

I have a very close girlfriend who called me one evening upset about a man she'd slept with who wouldn't call or text her back for days at a time, even though he often told her he would. She said he was, "Actin' crackish."

I paused for a moment, gazing at my own dimly lit front door from my kitchen, and then I asked her, "If you wouldn't let a crackhead into your house, why would you let a 'crackish' man into your body?"

She answered in a way I could understand, but didn't expect. She began talking to me as if I was Laurence Fishburne's Morpheus in The Matrix: "I don't want the red pill, Mish. I want to stay asleep in the matrix. I want to chew my steak and I don't want to eat slop. I don't want to see holes in my arms and down my back. I want to wear modern day clothes and not rags. I want to be in blissful sleep in the matrix and I don't want to know about this stuff anymore."

It looks like Barbie just lost her other foot.

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