Maintaining your muff is out, so says the internet.

Yay! say I, who thinks it’s a tedious chore to trim that particular hedge all the time, especially now that I’m married.

Unfortunately, the internet lied to me (shocker, I know). Apparently the only girls on the internet are under 30. Remember your 20’s, when you only grew a cute little muff mop when you got “lazy” about keeping up the landing strip?

Girls, I’ve got bad news for you. After 30, your missing link genes kick in.

It was the holiday season, and nothing kills libido like having family elders around. Hubby and I both knew we weren’t getting any until January. So I stopped shaving everything. This may or may not also have been facilitated by absent-minded hubby moving my razor out of the tub while he was cleaning it and putting it into a drawer of another bathroom.

About 7 days after cutbacks on maintenance, I realize I’m growing hair in places I never knew I could grow hair before. I am alarmed but intrigued. When did I start growing pubes on my hips?

At 10 days, I realize that I could no longer apply deodorant. In a fit of desperation, I borrow my MIL’s rusty, single-bladed cheap-ass disposable and whack at the forest growing in the pits of my arms. The dullness of the blade does not encourage me to shave anything I don’t absolutely have to.

At 14 days, and a heated argument about my husband’s evil bastard tendency to hide things, I give up and resume shaving my legs from the knees down. This was after I realized my leg hair actually protruded through the fabric of my jeans. I had no idea leg hair could do Cactus de Levis. It’s hella uncomfortable, too.

At about 21 days, I’ve made the horrifying discovery that women on the wrong side of their 30’s can grow happy trails. Not down from the navel, but down from the lady bits down the thighs.

WTF is this shit?

There’s also the bush itself, which is no longer a bush. Think Sleeping Beauty: It’s a mean-ass bramble thicket for miles around the frickin’ castle.

Hey my prince, you wanna play find the sleeping princess? No?

I can’t quite bend my brain around the fact that I grew this thing. It gives a whole new meaning to the phrase “party in my pants,” because it feels like I crammed a fuzzy fucking disco ball down there. It might have evolved enough to take up jazz flute.

After dreams that I was being eaten alive by the shrub from hell, I broke out the hedge trimmer.

You don’t have to shave yourself to pre-pubescence, but trust me, you need to mow the lawn from time to time. You want to send your man on a muff dive, not a bush whacking safari.

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An amazing collection of bright women who somehow manage to work, play, parent and survive and write blog posts all at the same time. We are the BLUNTmoms, always honest, always direct and surprising hilarious.

4 Comments

  1. OMG YOU ARE SO RIGHT ABOUT THE REVERSE HAPPY TRAILS. My esthetician told me once – “Um… we’re not allowed to wax down that far.” I was like: *sigh* “I get you. I’ll take it from here.”

  2. “Hey my prince, you wanna play find the sleeping princess? No?” – Congratulations, you just won the internet. I probably won’t be getting any more work done today, I’ll be too busy dying over this.

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