Skin Tag

She went in for a breast exam to check out a lump beneath the left nipple. The female physician examined her right breast for reference and exclaimed surprised with a tone of delight, “Ah, there’s a skin tag on the right nipple!” “Yes,” replied the woman lying down. “Appeared after my second child, who breast fed until she was five.” The doctor and nurse raised their eyebrows. “She knew how to suck full force down to empty," the woman continued. "I'd lay down and have holes where my breasts would be hollow.” Skin draping like two-dimensional cloth over the rib cage. The tag didn’t bother her because it held a dear story. Did the lump in her breast have a story, too? She wondered. At the end of the day, all stories lead to death anyway, even that of skin tag.

Two Women

Two women went into a big stall together in the lady's room.
"Woa, woa! What are you doing!?" said one to the other, who was grabbing a bunch of toilet paper and rolling it around her hand.
"Didn't your grandma teach you? One square for pee, two squares for poo."
No, her grandma hadn't taught her. Granny hadn't grown up in poor post World War Two Europe, where goods were scarce. Granny had enjoyed the comforts and wasteful excesses of affluent suburban America.
The woman with the toilet-paper-pad wiped her vulva and dropped the now stained white cushion into the toilet bowl. 
"Don't flush!" cried the other. And peed into the yellowish soup of dead tree matter and discarded body juice. Determined to at least save some water.
"Two for one," she thought. As she carefully folded three squares of thin public-bathroom-paper while she urinated. She wiped her pussy with it. And triumphantly flushed the whole mess out of sight, out of mind.

Bloody Costs

 "You don't think I bleed, too?!" He cried to her. "Just because your blood becomes obvious every month..."
"Well just so you know," she snapped back, "it's a bunch of chunks of fleshy matter, too, that just drop off my body."
"Well, I'm also fleshy matter!" His sobs threatened to become unbearable. All the wars of the world came crushing down on his consciousness. All the blood being shed on countless battlefields. Young men plucked like flowers during springtime, left to wilt on senseless paths of destruction.
She felt his pain. "You're right," she embraced him with her voice. "Enough is the blood shed for the monthly cost of life. We shall build a world without wars."