Pubic tonsure. Some people are born to talk about it, some people come to accept that it will be talked about while others have the conversation thrust upon them.
My friend Cluny and I were discussing the whole … area, the other day in the car on the way to a night out. Cluny was trying to call her 14-year-old daughter and was struggling with the buttons on her phone. Meanwhile, we were marvelling at the painful, undignified damage women seem prepared, even delighted, to inflict on something very tender in pursuit of something we couldn’t define.
‘I mean, would you … ?’
‘Well, not a Hollywood. What kind of man wants it hairless? Worrying.’
‘I know, and can you imagine any man agreeing to anything like this?’
‘Exactly. I’m not doing any of it. I think it’s important for my children to see that women have hair there. Otherwise they’ll think the internet is real.’
Just then a small voice emerged from the dashboard.
‘Mummy, you’ve accidentally phoned me four times and all I can hear is you and Cathy talking about Brazillians.’
Our joy was unconfined. It was in fact so raucous, so rowdy and so plain LOUD that I’m surprised our correspondent wasn’t blasted off the mobile phone line. We laughed until we found our stomach muscles and then hurt them a bit with more laughing. The poor girl suffered two women at the peak of their powers laughing at full throttle. For some minutes.
For the record, I would like to apologise to Clemency. I sincerely hope you have not sustained lasting damage to something very tender.