The words "dirty" and "vagina" should never be used in the same sentence. When my date for New Year's Eve 1996, was accused of being not so fresh downstairs, I should have run for the hills. But I didn't.
The bar was crowded and noisy, but over the din I could hear "You have a dirty vagina" being screamed at my date. Strange, because the night started off just fine. A little dinner at a brewpub in Northern California, and then off to Tavern Row in the college town of Arcata. I'd been on one other date with this woman, and we'd had a fine time. She was a friend of a friend, and I'd been warned by several people to play it safe with this one, as she was rumored to be perhaps a bit too generous with her female attributes.
The bar was overflowing when we arrived, and my date had to use the bathroom. She managed to get inside and immediately went to the rear of the bar while I was still trying to order drinks. That's when all hell broke loose. I was standing among a throng of other New Year's Eve revelers when I saw a large commotion near the bathrooms. I didn't think much of it until I saw my date running for the door with a gang of people chasing her. The ringleader was another college student who I knew through some mutual friends. She was ordinarily a very nice woman, but tonight she was pissed...at my date. "You have a dirty vagina" was the accusation she was leveling.
The entire bar was now up to speed on my date's supposed lack of personal hygiene. In my defense, I hadn't gotten a chance to see for myself. My friends' admonitions that I be careful with this one paid off. I was pretty confused about what was going on, but I later learned that my date had slept with the woman's boyfriend several days earlier.
The rest of the gang chasing my date was made up of several very large guys ready to kick my ass upon learning that I was the unlucky date of Dirty Vagina (or DV, as she was later referred to).
My date and I were pushed out of the bar and onto the damp sidewalk. About that time, a friend of mine came by and played diplomat. The drunk goons were pacified, and my date and I left. I was pretty stunned, and my date was a wreck. We made it next door to another bar, and I ordered a couple of drinks. By the time they came, my date was in tears and I was ready to call it quits. I had no desire to find out if the accusations of an untidy box were true or not. After all that, I assumed they were. At the same time, I couldn't just leave her there. I ended up playing counselor to my date for a couple of hours before I was able to get her home. After a quick goodnight, I bid 1996, and my date, goodbye.