Tuesday, April 15, 2008

It's 2001 again... To bush or not to bush?

Today, my friend says to me: “I think I'm going through a fear of coming out, as in, coming out naturally…”

She has a fear of coming out naturally? Pubically? I’m not the biggest fan of the Brazilian wax- have you ever had to deal with the itchiness that comes when the hair starts to grow in? To each her own, I guess. But then, [light bulb goes off] this could be the next ‘it’ movement! Imagine. A Vagina Monologues- like show, centered around the woman’s right to wax or to not wax. Or perhaps I could write to Eve Ensler and ask that she include the “fear of coming out naturally” as one of the vagina monologues?

Picture the moment. The speaker steps out onto the stage, the ordinarily harsh spotlight glowing a pale amber. The woman’s face reflecting an intensity and an urgency that settles a hush over a restless audience. She begins to speak, strong, loud, proud: When I was 53, my husband packed his bags and left. Ten months before our thirtieth anniversary, and without a goodbye. A week later, all I had to remember him was the expectation of a measly alimony check and a genital area that was bald and still swollen from my mandatory bi-monthly Brazilian wax. One night while watching Terms of Endearment, at the same moment my spoon scraped the cardboard bottom of my 5th straight Chunky Monkey, the growing hairs began to itch. As Shirley MacLaine screams “Give my daughter the shot!”, it hits me. There I was, stuffing my face with ice cream, 8 pounds heavier and scratching my bald vagina, while my husband sent me post cards from his new yacht docked somewhere in Barbados. Still scratching, I stood up. No more, I said. No more bald Vaginas!
[The speaker turns to the audience]
Scream it with me!
No more bald vaginas!
Say it!
No more Bald Vaginas!
I can't hear you!
The speaker leaves the stage. And at that moment, the audience knows that underneath her clothes, the speaker had overcome her fear of going natural.

I loved my idea. I patted myself on the back and day-dreamed of the inevitable accolades. Until my friend interrupts my attempts to high-five myself to correct me: “I meant wearing my hair natural.”

Oh then. Never mind.

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