Fringed

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Fringed. Past tense.

Gusset Grippers has left the bedlam.

Am very glad I did it, have learned loads, not least that I really, really love the Fringe.

Where else do you meet a bi-pedal penis who does rude things to your knitted fanny bag (nowhere, I hope) or a woman who debunks rape myths by getting Pissed and naked (Adrienne Truscott’s “asking for it” is brilliant), or hear some of the most moving spoken word ever (Other Voices and Kate Fox, Banshee Labyrinth).

I have also learned there’s a lot of work to be done. Cannae wait.

The picture (check me getting all technical on wordpress) is of the cash donated by my lovely audience (smashers, all of ‘em) for the Freedom For Fistula Foundation.

About 2 million women in Africa exist with horrific injuries caused by obstructed childbirth. I say “exist” because living with incontinence, shame, pain and no sanitation often means there’s little quality of life for these women.

I think there’s enough to fix half a fanny. So, I guess I need to keep fundraising, as I expect that most women would find it difficult to choose which half to repair.

Am mulling over a “clenchathon”. Would be a laugh.

I am sure that laughter is the way forward. If I make women laugh about their leaking then they’ll talk. And that means they share experiences, gain empathy and, hopefully, be encouraged to seek help. 

It seems to me that breaking down the taboo in the West might have an impact on the amount of funding charities who help improve maternity care (and deal with the consequences of there being none) for women in developing countries.

So, a clenchathon. Like a McMillan coffee morning, only with information and education about your bits, raising cash for women who’s bits were broken.

You up for it?donate directly here.

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