Steaming

I pushed open the living room door having just returned from getting some supplies at the shops. I marched in with my many bags and stopped in my tracks.

My good lady was sipping tea on the couch with our Doula. I had not been aware that we were due any visitors this afternoon and was somewhat taken aback.

Doula.

I greeted her curtly.

Daddy.

I made a cat drinking vinegar face. The only ladies I liked calling me Daddy were the ones in my family and the nubile ones in the LA mansion of my fevered dreams.

To what do we owe the pleasure?

I enquired.

The Doula smiled, a secret smile of devilry and midnight rituals.

Just a little visit before the big event.

She replied airily.

Oh yes, the big event. I knew all about that, in little less than two weeks my good lady was going to be wheeked off to a red tent in a remote country location and be inducted into the Doula-hood. My only hope is that they would send back the same person and not some blonde, fake-breasted BoomDawg assassin.

Oh right then, I shall make myself a coffee and let you Doulas get on with it.

I made my coffee strong enough to kill a horse in case the Doula planned on staying a while.

Once it was ready, I came back into the living room and sat down at the table a little ways away to give them some privacy.

I logged onto steemit and was having a browse with my coffee when the good lady interrupted.

Daddy... Do we have any Rosemary in the garden?

We sure do my little potato pie.

The good lady turned to the Doula.

How much do I need?

Just a few sprigs will be fine.

The Doula said with her Doula smile of Doula-ness.

I looked at the two of them with some distrust. You can be guaranteed that when a Doula starts enquiring after your herb store that they ain't planning on roasting you a nice chicken.

I will go and get you some, what do you need it for?

The good lady looked a little furtive and looked to the Doula. She didn't look furtive at all. In fact, she suddenly seemed to inflate and her voice boomed ever so loudly.

For the Yoni steaming of course.

I looked all Hugh Grant at his peak.

Yoni what?

The Doula looked me square in the eye, her voice now thrown at me like a challenge.

Yoni is the ancient art of vaginal steaming!

At this point, I would like to say that I fainted. But I didn't. Nor did I spit my coffee over the pair of heathens. Instead, I nodded calmly as if being given the recipe for a good apple pie.

Ah yes, of course.

I nodded.

Vaginal steaming? Are all Doulas this mental? Has the world gone mad? This cannot be a thing? Does she really want me to snip some rosemary cuttings off so she can throw them in a bucket of hot water and let it waft up her bajinash?!?

I continued nodding like one of those toy dogs in cars, as they carried on their discussion.

Was this what being married to a Doula was going to be like? Every weekend a horde of hormone-crazed women descending on my garden and dragging their gallumphs over my herb patch and burying placentas in my flower beds?!?

Daddy? You with us?

I came to from my musings to see the pair of them observing me the way a hawk does a mouse.

I smiled.

Of course darling, let me hop out to the garden and get some of that rosemary right now!