What's up with all this fuss over the clit as in, "How do you pronounce it," among other things?

 I'm okay with tomato tomahto, potato, potatoh.  But because no one knows how to say clitoris we've cut it back to clit.  Like it's the only safe way to say it.

Every doctor and ob-gyn I've been to, I have asked the same question, "How do you pronounce clitoris?"  And they break their composure with a brief look of shock and then recover and casually shrug their shoulders and tell me you can say it either way -- as in KLIT erus or Kli TOR us.  I've found a third one which is even worse klitres  -- so small and embarrassing -- like something you hide in the closet and are ashamed you have in the house. 

Remember that meek, repressed secretary of the big bad boss in "Stuart Saves His Family?"   Julia Sweeny played it to perfection.  Most women I've heard even utter the formal version out loud sorta say it like her.  Like when she hunches down behind her desk and squeaks, "May I help you?"  We sort of cringe and squeak "my klitres?"  

I have actually caught myself using that small high squeaky voice when I've asked my doctor the question -- and she's a female too!  And even she gave this eery disinterested, noncommittal "either way is fine," reply.

I mean we seem to treat it like it's a pimple on your nose or something.  Because no one can decide how to say it, we've reduced it now from klitres to a mere "clit."   Like, now where did I leave my clit?  Have you seem my clit?  It's always tucked away somewhere.  You won't find me saying, "Oops, sorry.  I just tripped over my clit."  It's a shortened version -- like if you didn't read Moby Dick you can just pick up your Clit Notes and cheat. 

Well, I'll tell ya.  After all my queries and looking clitoris up in multiple dictionaries, encyclopedia and etymologies, I've made a decision.  I am taking a strong stand on this one.  I'm giving it the big bold pronounciation of cliTORus!  Yes!  I have a cli-TOR-AHHH-SSS and I'm proud of it. 

Even though it's small and hidden, it's one powerful organ.  Guy's are so proud of their Mr. Happy's and boners and salamis -- their PENISES (emphasis on every syllable).  

Well I've got a Mrs. Happy who gets boners and hard ons and comes with its own lubricant to boot.  And the great thing about it is it's very powerful but keeps its secrets.   It doesn't stick out and rub against you during a teen prom and embarrass the heck out of you.   When I'm singing around the house or rapping in front of my mirror (please don't tell, no one knows I do this) I don't grab it and squeeze it for shock value.

I mean, have you ever seen a female flasher?

Discovering my cliTORis was a disaster. 

When I was a kid, I used to shimmy up the poles holding up our swing set.  When I got to the top something amazing, mesmerizing, completely implosive would happen and I would lose all my strength and fall off in happy, confused, exhaustion. 

Whenever my mom caught me, she was disgusted. She looked at me like I was the pox.  I got hauled off the swing set and bawled out and told never to do THAT again (I didn't know what THAT was) and sent to my room to say an entire Rosary and ask god for forgiveness.  For what?  All I knew was that whatever "it" was, I knew it had to be a Mortal Sin and I was damned forever.

But I liked whatever THAT was and found myself  shimmying up anything I could get my hands on -- from stair railings to doors.   And no matter how hard I tried to be stealthy, I would get caught and spanked and looked at like I was the devil and sent to my room.  I didn't know then my fingers could do the talking.

I think the worst thing that happened about this mystery thing I loved was in high school.  Yes!  high school.   I was raised Catholic and taught by nuns.  Believe me.  I was a late bloomer and didn't know what this things was until junior year. 

 Anyway, we were in gym class and our PE teacher had these thick, giant ropes hanging from the rafters and we all had to wrap our legs around them and shimmy to the top in order to pass PE. 

I wanted to die right then and there.  I looked at that rope with lust and terror because I knew what would happen at the top and the fall was two stories and all the other girls would find out I'm possessed.

When it was my sorry turn, I got less than halfway up and The Thing happened and I desperately tried to break my fall with my hands and ended up on the floor in my usual post orgasm stupor with horrific rope burns and a face as red as my hands.

I do digress.

In sum, I hope that I have reached out to even just a few women who will now get out from behind their desks and stand up tall, shoulders back, and say it loud and proud, "I'm a good person and people like me and I have a cliTORis."  So there!