A lifelong puzzlement, solved!

I was just looking back over some photos from my Southeast Asian adventure, rereading the fabulous, if few, posts I wrote in the midst of it all, and becoming increasingly depressed. I've decided to skip class today, in lieu of commiserating with myself over the suckitude of my life.
Do not be alarmed. This happens with some frequency.

I don't really want to get into one of my rambling whining rants, so I probably will despite myself. In an attempt to curb this compulsion I will tell you a story filled with witticisms, struggle, family intrigue, a fall from grace, and finally, redemption.

When I was just a wee lassy, in order to not corrupt my chaste ears, my Grandma, god rest her soul, used to refer to my vj, her vj, and all vjs for that matter, as a 'possible'. For years, roughly 20, after the blind acceptance of this bizarre terminology began to wane, I puzzled over this question: why? Why, of all cute or cuddly or inoffensive colloquialisms, would she choose to use the word 'possible' in addressing my cookie?

In an effort to unravel this convoluted nest of insanity, this reporter hit the streets, and what she found was astonishing... absolutely nothing.
When sharing humorous anecdotes on what words our grandparents used to refer to our genitalia, my story would have scant effect on my friends apart from perplexion. I studied, inquired, even begged for some clue into this mystery, but no such lead was forthcoming.
On one pre mortem visit I made to my Grandma, I had the presence of mind to ask that maddening question I had so long yearned to have answered; why? As I waited, animation suspended save for a pounding heart and a barely detectable twitch in the corner of my right eye, the suspense killing me, literally (notice, I neglected to include breathing. Remember to always breathe, or you will die. I will elaborate on the physiological repercussions of lack of oxygen, to the body at a later time), she finally parted her lips, and began to utter that most holy of utterances. It was as if the clouds had separated, the clouds being her lips, and god him/her/itself spewed out all his/her/its glorious lumination about the land, and all blessed enough to stand beneath its radiating brilliance, were enlightened with, not the secrets of life, but THE secret to life.
What she said was this: "I don't know. My mother used to say it."
Her mother who has been dead since well before I was born. FRICK!

Since that traumatic, devastatingly devastating incident, I have carried that burden with me, in silence, letting it stew, or ripen, or fester, depending on your perspective or the day I'm having.
But all that changed one fateful night. The most important of all nights in my life thus far, which was either Thursday or Sunday, I can't remember.
So, I'm chatting with a couple of friends, again involved in a grandparent-bequeathed-slang-term-for-genitals conversation, when I relate my heartbreaking story. When I finish, teary eyed and obviously shaken, my friend, Walta, says to me, "Are you kidding? You don't know where that comes from?"
Well, this was the last response that I expected. Contrary to usual post 'possible' events, he wasn't forlorn or desolate, he wasn't as panicked as a recently bombed villager. Neigh, he was sitting there, telling me that he, in all his wisdom, had the answer to the biggest conundrum of my life.
Once I recaptured my breath, and my faltering heart had resumed its regular rhythm, I demanded he proceed.
This is what he told me.

When he was just a young boy, and due to hygienic negligence, had got to smelling pretty ripe, his mother would tell him to "get in the shower and wash as high as possible, wash as low as possible, and don't forget to wash possible."

Wow!

As relieving as it was, it lacked the satisfaction I had longed for for so long. As amusing as it was in a nostalgicly reminiscent of yesteryear type of way, it was a bit of a let down. It was searching for King Tut's tomb, only to find inside of it a King Tut Ken doll.
Don't be mistaken, I would not trade this knowledge for the world (okay, that is a lie), but after so many years of contriving stories about the unlockings of dark family secrets, concocting arcana to which 'possible' was the cipher, it was, suffice it to say, anticlimactic.

But c'est la vie, it's a good story, and you were totally scandalized but also so enticed that you nutted in your panties.

It's time for me to smoke a Nigarette (shout out to LindSAY). I may post yet again today since I'm a truant slacker who just so happens to love to sporadically write things.