Condom Coochie.

Yes, condom coochie.

Welcome to Shame Sandwich, where Megan feels equal parts shame and glee in sharing hilarious personal thought rants every Friday. Sometimes on shame, sometimes shame infused, and other times, nothing to do with shame. Warning: Usually very sweary. Enjoy responsibly.

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To make up for the fact that I didn’t write a newsletter last week (💔), I’ve got a particularly unhinged one for you this week.

I hope you have as much fun reading it, as I had fun writing it. 😂

But first, a Very Important Disclaimer: If you’re my mother or my employer, you are not legally allowed to read this. Clear? Excellent.

Now we may proceed.

I thought I was going to quit my job yesterday.

On a completely unrelated note, I had a condom stuck up my coochie two weeks ago.

Sorry for any coffee spitting out-ing the above admission might have incurred.

I don’t have any coffee removal tips for you, I fear.

I’m afraid I’m less domesticated housewife material and more feral hoe female.

ANYWHO.

You would think job quitting and condom coochie-gate are not related. They aren’t.

But I’m nothing if not up for the challenge.

So strap your condoms on and tripple check your coochies and let’s begin.

First, condom coochie.

Y’ALL.

I HAD A CONDOM STUCK UP IN MY COOCHIE CANAL!!!!

coochie canal. i need a moment. why am i not famous yet. hahahahahahahahaha.

Like, stuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck stuck.

Not, in-there-but-still-peeping-out-my-peep-hole, “stuck”.

Naw, this motherlover went to Paris and then the tip of the Eiffel Tower “stuck”.

In fact, my man and I spent a good long while searching high and low for that sneaky schlong wrapper.

Hidden in the duvet? No.

Perhaps behind the pillows? Nope.

Maybe behind the headboard? Negative.

On the ground? Nothing.

And this wasn’t a small schlong wrapper, either, if you catch the weight of my drift.

It’s not like it just faded into oblivion.

And that’s when he said:

You don’t think it’s still inside of you, do you???

Me: 👀

Him: 👀

Me: 👉(v)👈

holy fuck I just created a vag emoji!!!!!!!!! 😂

Which is to say, I had no choice but to go finger fishing for condoms.

Inside my very own honey-pot.

🍯

SPOILER ALERT.

This is where you think I’m going to tell you I found it.

I did not find it.

I repeat: I did not find the MIA dick blanket in my honey pot.

Damn.

At this point, I’m still calm.

Calm, but worried-ish.

And so, another search around the room we did.

Still, nothing.

Which is how I found myself searching on Reddit: “can a condom disappear inside your coochie???”

To my horror, one woman had a condom coochie situation for a week.

A WEEK.

Completely unaware she was one unsuspecting toilet visit away from a condom slithering out of her hot pocket.

Until, in fact, said condom did in fact slither out of her hot pocket.

Can you imagine?

Jesus fucking angels Christ.

That is when I did start to get proper worried.

What if I have a sausage casing swirling around my cervix right now????? I thought.

And so, there was only one thing to be done.

More: 👉(v)👈

Except, this time I enlisted my man’s help.

Fist me if you must, I said.

JK.

Actually, I did say that. But I was mostly joking.

Anywho.

Before you go thinking the reason I lost a condom up my magical portal was because it is less of a coochie canal and more of a coochie crater… fuck you.

JK. 😂

The fisting adjacent extraction mission was underway.

What would we find?

A condom?

Shame sandwich crumbs?

Something else?

Deeper and deeper he journeyed.

Until, at last, he bumped into my cervix.

A little more up to the left… then a little more up to the righ— wait!

What was that?

And there it was.

That kinky condom was taking a warm bath in my hot pocket.

Until it wasn’t.

With one expert pinch and pull, my coochie was condom-ed no more.

Woooo!

Which leads me back to my current job situation...

Y’all. I’ve been fucked.

Except this time it wasn’t fun and I think I’ve got a metaphorical condom stuck inside my literal soul. Cockblocking me from living my best life.

Which is why I almost quit my job yesterday.

At least, the fantasy was hot and dirty.

And then that bastard called Reality knocked on my brain and was like: “yo, bitch… if you quit, you're gonna end up ass fucked with no job lined up and a condom stuck up your rectum this time”.

That really ruined things for me.

The fantasy was over.

And here I sit.

No condom up my coochie, but fucked by a job I don’t love.

But have no fear… good things are on my horizon.

I can feel it. Or maybe that’s just the remnants of a condom being inside my coochie.

Either way, I think I can feel good things coming my way.

And that’s got me feeling pretty rizzed up.

Here’s to good things being around the corner.

And to surviving condom coochie.

Have the bestest weekend!!!!!!

🫶

-M

p.s. - big shoutout to my amazing man for putting up with my un-hinged writing ways. 🥹😂

p.p.s. - don’t worry, I’m not preggers I’ve got the bloodied pad receipts to prove it.

p.p.p.s - please do not leave me on read in the comments. You must tell me what you thought of this one!!! 😬😅

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From the bottom of my tiny tits, thank you for being here. If these words made you feel, it would mean the world if you could tap the lil ‘heart’, leave a comment or share this. 🖤

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