Forget the Pelvic Floor, We Hired a Swedish Architect to Build Us a Pelvic Mezzanine
Some people think that the pelvic floor is important just because it keeps your organs from getting poured out onto the ground like a green juice the new girl at Bile forgot to put bee pollen in even though you were ADAMANT about wanting it. Before you decide whether to replace your pelvic floor with a pelvic mezzanine, you should understand your anatomy. The pelvic floor is a hammock-like group of muscles that stretches across the base of your pelvis and supports your internal organs. Well, here at Bunny Ears, we think hammocks are tacky. What am I, a Brazilian river boat captain?
Fortunately, there’s a new option for renovating the ol’ Vancouver Art Gallery: the pelvic mezzanine. The ladies at Bunny Ears decided to spruce up our downstairs by turning that downstairs into a tasteful, Nordic architectural masterwork. Now it’s not a downstairs at all, because we raised it by several feet. This is the story of our journey one half floor up.
Hiring the architect
Before we could renovate our pelvic floors, we needed to find an architect serious about interior design. Really, really, interior design. We had a hard time finding a surgeon with the necessary skills, because apparently it’s “unethical” to rearrange a woman’s organs. Hey! Are we living in Trump’s America or not?
It took a little work, but we finally found the right person: Umlaut, the mononymous Swedish architect best known for his tiny house designs. We talked him into working on an even smaller project (we’ve really been doing our kegels lately). We couldn’t be happier with our choice. Umlaut has vision AND a complete disregard for medical ethics. Also, he makes great small talk, which is surprisingly important when you’re spending eight weeks in stirrups staring at a ceiling.
Selecting the materials
We were so excited to pick the materials for our new pelvic mezzanines. We’re not entirely sure what the pelvic floor was made from (we declined Umlaut’s offer of a hand mirror), but we’re pretty sure it was some kind of awful linoleum straight out of a Leave it to Beaver episode, and they simply HAD to go.
Selecting good materials becomes even more important when those materials are going to be inside your body forever. Of course we wanted to choose organics. Ultimately, we settled on a little vajay-jade (it’s a classic) along with teak finishings. We considered redwood, but ultimately we wanted to be able to make innuendo about “hard wood”, a long-lasting joke premise that will age beautifully AND resist moisture.
Spending eight weeks on valium and local anesthesia was the best vacation a woman could ask for. I assume I had a good time, because I don’t remember anything about the experience. If you’re worried about losing important work time, I have good news. While I don’t remember much about going under, my personal assistant assures me I was still able to cruelly insult her when she forgot to put bee pollen my green juice IV.
Our pelvic mezzanines are now fully installed, and we couldn’t be happier. A lot of people RSVP’ed to my open house. Like, a lot. Thank god I did all those kegels! Now that I have a pelvic mezzanine, my IUD is located somewhere near my diaphragm, and has a great view of the action. I’m thrilled to be a revolutionary in this new arena for creative design. In the words of the New York Times Style section reporter I showed around the place: “oh yeah baby, oh yeah, yeah, yeah, arhggggggggg.”