Too Much TMI to Even Get a Title

If I knew how to do it I’d ask you to send a naked photo of yourself before you could click the link here because this post is so far beyond TMI that we need to be on an equal footing. No, no actual nude photos, but very bad mental images. Continue only if you think you can take it AND you are nowhere near work AND you have access to a shower so you can clean the nasty off you. Believe me this really isn’t fit for public consumption – and if you want to know why that was a really regrettable choice of words, then click here …

Yeah, the topic of this post is no big mystery. Faithful Readers will be able to guess what I did at the Spa besides the eyelash perm/tint and F*ci*l Deep Pore Violation Experience. Of course I got my first Brazilian wax. Why?

1. Gary has been plowing that field for over twenty-one years and I think he deserves a change of scenery.

2. Honest to God, I thought, “Well, that would be something to blog.”

3. The ladies over on the Barenaked Cruise message board have all been talking about waxing, and Epiladying, and shaving, and shaving “BNL” into their pubic hair, and it sounded like the thing to do. Of course, if I had paid attention I would have noticed its the thing to do among twenty-somethings. (Along with https://www.softcup.com/, another recent underleg development of which I have been ignorant. It’s a whole new world.)

Most fashion choices of the twenty-something young and trendies I attribute to the “Skips a Generation” theory. For example: False eyelashes. I can’t wear those. Why? My Mom’s generation wore those. I can’t wear any of the things below:

Mary Kate Ashley Generation………………Mom’s Generation
Spanx………………………………………………Girdles
Hair extensions………………………………… Wiglets
Big Handbags…………………………………….Big Handbags

But the Brazilian? I can’t reject that as a Fashion Throwback. I don’t think any woman in HISTORY had the screwy idea to rip off all her girly fur. So this opens up waxing as an option for me.

My friend Catherine tried both to warn me off it and to get me drunk beforehand, out of her deep care and sweet concern for me. I just hopped right up on the spa table anyway and said “I want it all gone.”

And after it was all gone (I only said ouch once) I hobbled off to the ladies room to check it out.

In order, these were my thoughts:

1. I have made a huge mistake.
2. I look like I’m five – this is going to turn Gary so far OFF it will shrivel up into a vanilla bean.
3. What’s that mole doing there?
4. What the HELL is THAT? Barbie® didn’t have that!

“That” was something I REALLY wasn’t expecting: this deep crease that went from between my legs up into the visible underbelly area previously covered by hair. It looked like crotch cleavage. I almost immediately understood what it was, it’s just that I really was not expecting it.

So I went home and looked at porn just to see if other women had crotch cleavage, and if they did if they were as endowed with it as I was. While finding photos of naked women standing facing the camera with their legs NOT spread was a challenge, I found to my relief that we all have it to some degree.

Gary’s first response was outrage, until I reminded him whose pudenda this is. Then it changed into insistence that if I was going to be that naked for the naked photo on the Lido deck, that I should cover it up with my hands. I agreed to that, but also argued it would be just as effective to take a marker and draw curly-que hairs all over it.

Now he’s past Anger and Bargaining and is into the Making Fun of The Wife stage. He’s found that I get particularly worked up if he says, “You’re crying at Grey’s Anatomy? Who’s a little girl? Oooos a widdle biddie baby gwurrll?”