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Why a Text From Your Vagina Will Be Gratefully Received

Quite frankly, I have no desire to display to the world thatby Chris de Burgh is currently playing on my personal jukebox, and I'd like it if every fourth Tuesday I didn't have to walk around filled with fear and disquiet because the painters are in and I'm wearing camel trousers.

You know that feeling when your phone goes off, and you feel a little leap of excitement and anticipation. And then you see that it's just a text from Dominos letting you know the two for one deal is back on.

Well, now you can feel that emotion all over again, except this time, the text will be from your own vagina.

This is because there's a new piece of wearable technology specifically for your ladybits. It's like a Mooncup - an eco-friendly menstrual cup that collects your blood flow - but it's called Looncup. I'm not sure why, because there's nothing loony about this. In fact, I think it's brilliant. It's a bit like 4G for you and your vagina - it's going to do nothing but increase communication between you guys.

What it does is use a sensor and an antennae to send information to your smartphone about how full your menstrual cup is. So you'll get a text along the lines of, 'Hey awesome woman. Please find time between being busy and amazing to empty your menstrual cup, or you will find yourself looking like you've sat on the workbench of an abattoir quite soon.' Or something along those lines. I'd imagine.

It will also be able to analyse your blood for changes in colour that might indicate, according to the makers, that you are suffering from stress or a lack of sleep (science notwithstanding), so aside from making sure that your cup will quite literally not runneth over, the Looncup really does have your best interests at heart.

And yet I know some people will feel very weird about this. 'EEUUGGHHH, I'm not shoving THAT in my body', I hear you cry. In fact I've already seen comments online that declare that WE'VE FINALLY GONE TOO FAR.

But honestly, what are you worried about? It's not like having a chip in your brain; it's exactly the same as any other sanitary product you'd insert inside you to absorb your monthly visit from Aunt Flo, except with a cool extra feature.

It's categorically not my business what anyone decides should be bestowed the privilege of entering their va-jay-jay. But I'll bet that you've let people put things in there that you regret a lot more than a nifty piece of biotech. (Calm down I'm only talking about the penises of terrible people).

And besides, nans have been using pacemakers for years to keep their ticker in check and no one thinks that's disgusting. But mention the words 'vagina' or 'period' and people start crinkling their faces up as if you've locked them in a sewer.

Perhaps it's the thought of a piece of technology in such an intimate area, and admittedly, it is a strange thought at first. And technology can be so invasive of our lives in so many other ways, that we can often end up feeling exhausted at the thought of any new innovation, trying to improve our lives but really just giving us something else to monitor or check or reply to or update.

But just because this happens doesn't mean we should be alarmist or dismissive of new technologies that can genuinely improve our lives.

I'll tell you a story: at university, I once had an incident in my student newspaper office. I was so busy writing about how angry I was at Michael Gove that I didn't realise biology had been taking its course and I had ruined a great pair of jeans as well as a piece of office furniture.

When it occurred to me what had happened, I accidentally made eye contact with the one other person in the room, where he saw into the depths of my ashamed menstrual soul. I had to spend the subsequent hour with a jumper tied round my waist like an extra from Byker Grove, and then he deleted me on Facebook, and I don't think it's a stretch to say that those two incidents might have been connected.

Personally I don't want any more jeans or office furniture to get ruined, I don't want any more people to delete me on Facebook, and I don't want anyone else to mistake me for a member of PJ & Duncan. None of this would have happened if only my vagina had been able to text me.

Quite frankly, I have no desire to display to the world that The Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh is currently playing on my personal jukebox.

I'd like it if every fourth Tuesday I didn't have to walk around filled with fear and disquiet because the painters are in and I'm wearing camel trousers.

And if technology can stop me from waking up and finding that my sheets look like a discarded prop from a rendition of The Red Flag at a Jeremy Corbyn rally, I'm going to embrace it.

What's progressive about keeping old menstrual blood inside you to the point that it quite literally does a Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption and breaks free into the outside world? Nothing. It's just stubborn.

And do you know what? I'd love to get some texts from my vagina to be perfectly honest. It would make a change from all those ones Dominos keep sending me.

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