Would you like to buy a flower?

My wonderful man and I took a long overdue trip to New York City this weekend. It was so nice to get away for a few days and relax in a place that's so busy! We explored a new neighborhood (East Village) and even walked across the Bkln Bridge at midnight (in the freeeeezing cold!). It was great. I'll spare you the gushy romantic details.

What I do want to share is an experience that I am still laughing over. On Saturday night, we escaped from the cold into a 24 hour drug store. It was the biggest Walgreens either of us had ever been in, and we spend a good half hour just roaming. When we got to the toy section, N says to me, "Oh come here! I want to show you this toy!" He pulls down this little sphere that is supposed to guess what word you're thinking of in 20 questions. N is convinced that this is the most genious invention ever, so we decide to play.
We picked the word 'vagina.' Now, there was some degree of crudeness in the choice of word (on Ns part), but I was really interested into what this little toy would guess after 20 questions about a va-jay-jay.
After 20 hilarious questions (Is it wet? Is it alive? Does it smell? Does it smell nice?), the magic ball calculates its guess.
"Is it...A Bouquet of Flowers?"
WOW. I absolutely love that the sacred feminine has been mistaken for a bouquet of flowers. I really do. It just reinforced my thoughts of how delicate, special, powerful, beautiful a vagina is!
We did, however, decide to give the magic ball another chance, and we said "no" and continued with another set of questions. Even after asking if it was a body part, the magic ball's guess was...
"Is it...A Carnation?"
Now, I'll leave the fact that I think carnations are a poor excuse for a flower out of this, but...
The magic ball STILL thought the vagina was a flower. I LOVE it! After all these crude nicknames we have for the lady part, a vagina has the objective likeness of a flower.

Since my area of interest is women's health (and women's rights, for that matter), I think I am going to make a significant effort to eliminate crude, insulting names for the vagina from the vernacular.

I know that, according to the book Cunt, I should embrace these terms because they are symbols of female strength and unconditional self-love, but I would still love to hear a man say that he loves my bouquet of flowers.