We’ve been doing life writing, which is my excuse for this.
I went to a party the other day. It was in the small, market town close to where I live and one of my favourite neighbours, Cassie, was already there.
I had been wanting to ask her if she’d read Cailin Moran’s How To Be a Woman, from which the title quote is taken, and was trying to start a conversation about pubic hair and waxing, or not waxing, and the total RIGHTNESS of Ms Moran’s views on that (and everything else) when the conversation was hijacked.
Well, maybe that’s a bit harsh. The woman was just joining in. It was a party after all, not Cathy Dreyer Entertains …
To be clear, it wasn’t Cassie interrupting me, but a friend of her’s – Izzy – who I’ve known vaguely for a while and with who I have a history of mild to moderate niggle.
Izzy heard the word ‘bush’ and that was all she needed. She said: ‘Oh God, I know what you mean, I had to do something about mine.’
I had been mid-sentence, mid-word even. But, I politely replaced my jaws in the shut position, and turned to her, setting my glare on ‘mute’. Fortunately, Izzy didn’t notice. ”Yes,” she said, ”my friend Bernadette took one look at my [points wordlessly to crotch] and said, ‘God Izzy, your bush really ages you, it’s so retro.’ I went straight and had the full Brazilian.”
As Cass and I looked anywhere but at each other, Izzy continued, ”I showed Bernadette and she said it was much better. Still kingsize, though, when it really should be funsize, but better.” Then Izzy carelessly tossed her blond tresses, shot me an Icantalkaboutmybushwiththebestofthem-look and wandered off in search of who knows what .
Somewhere private for a good scratch, most probably.
Oh well, at least there’s no need for Botox any more. Anyone in search of a more youthful appearance shouldn’t waste time on her or his face. If you really want to impress your friends, just have your pubes removed, it’ll take years off you …