Yesterday, I finished Mary Roach's Bonk: The Curious Coupling of Science and Sex, yet another book that can be mortifying to read on the subway. My sense of humor has always leaned into the inappropriate zone, so it was difficult to stifle giggles when I read the passage below. I warn you, it involves our friend, the vagina:

Kegeling has since been taken a step further, in the form of vaginal weightlifting. The idea being: You don't just flex your muscles if you want to build them up; you train with weights. I once tried the Feminine Personal Trainer for a story. It came with a slip of paper telling me not to be overwhelmed by its weight. I wasn't. I was overwhelmed by its size. Suffice to say, this is the only workout on Earth that calls for vaginal lubricant. The directions tell you to insert and contract, causing the FPT to rise up inside you until all that can be seen protruding is a doorknob-shaped piece of steel, as though you are giving birth to a hardware store. I use mine as a paperweight.

If this doesn't want make you want to rush to your local library or bookstore - after you manage to uncross your legs, of course - I don't know what will.