What does your vagina say about you?

Men will never understand. Never.
Never has a man been through anything as intimate and medically violating as a smear test. Whilst many women avoid such tests (come on girls these tests save lives), many will at some point find themselves on that plastic bed with their knees uncharacteristically far apart. Whilst a man has nothing to do but slap it out like an uncooked sausage on a bbq, we women have to endure the fact that the person who's head is just visible above our stomach line will see more of our anatomy than we ever will.
Some of these invasive people should be awarded for their skills. As me and Steph discussed today, obese women must represent a whole new kind of danger. A person could be crushed under the fat apron that has prevented many women ever seeing their own vagina. I conclude that it would take at least 4 people to complete the test for someone I know. 1 person at each thigh. 1 to use the forklift to hold the extra stomach back. Finally 1 to administer the test, allowing the vagina to finally take a breath of fresh air. I imagine it's very pale. People who live in dark caves are very pale. The Gollum of the vagina world.
My first time on the plastic bed I pondered the etiquette of such a situation. It would be harsh to make a person feel like they should have brought some braids and start plaiting. It was also probably best not to resemble an Ewok. Although I imagine furry legs would provide a nice warmth around the side of the face while you stare into the abyss.
If the whole position itself wasn't enough to endure, in true personal style my 2 violations were accompanied by moments of embarrassment and quite frankly utter confusion.
As I sat there with my legs a-spread trying to ignore the fact that she was about to put a ducks head up my lady region, I heard the last words that I ever expected to hear:
'You can tell you don't have kids'!
What do I say to that? It's nice to know that of the whole of my anatomy it's my un-stretched vulva that gives the most clear statement that I might as well be barren.
'Errr thanks' was the only response that I could give. Whilst mentally I was smiling that all my assumptions of gunge-like vagina flaps were correct. I don't really mind that my vagina makes it clear I don't have children, however apparently this isn't the only thing it says.
This week I returned once more to the exposed position that only women with heads popping from their bodies should be in. I was pleased to find that it was my good 'no kids for you' friend again. This time my attention was taken away from the duck head to the hard plastic plate scrubber she would apparently be invading my cervix with. Collect cells?! You could scrape out my ovaries with that thing.
'Still single?'
What the fudge?! First of all the only thing we established last time was I don't have children, not that I was single. Secondly ......... I knew I should have spent more time grooming. But no, instead my treacherous vagina winked up through the forest stating 'It's been a while'. I'll never trust my vagina again. I never know what it's saying behind my back.