Exercising

I've been told I must regularly exercise my pubococcygeus muscles.

Righty ho.

These are the muscles of the oh-so-crucial "pelvic floor." Why, wonders I, why does a floor have muscles? Shouldn't a floor have tiles or slabs or bricks or some such thing?

Important Safety Tip: Do not pose this question to your doctor. Doctors--I should qualify that-- American doctors (in my experience, British doctors are a different sort of animal entirely) are not intrigued by linguistic puzzles and will glare at you because you are wasting their oh-so-valuable time (even tho', of course, you've just spent 45-fucking-minutes past your supposed appointment time thumbing through issues of Newsweek that date from the 1990s but God only knows your time doesn't matter)--

Oh geez. Lost track again. Oh right. The pelvic floor. The all-important pubococcygeus muscles. The ones I must exercise several times daily in order to stop leaking.

The problem is that it is really quite difficult to do one's Kegel exercises (as they are called) when one is giggling. And I am always giggling. Because every time I try to do the damn things, I picture my pubococcygeus muscles wearing tiny little sweat pants and miniature athletic bras, working out with teeny weights, cooling down with miniscule bottles of Gatorade, checking out their microscopic pecs in the locker room mirror. And then I start imagining gyms full of pubococcygeus muscles doing aerobic dance moves to 1980s Madonna songs--and God help me, I'm leaking again.