Anyway, this post was supposed to be about pubes not phobias so let's take it down a notch. Lighten the mood with a little discussion about the hair down yonder square. Real talk.
I started shaving early. One might say too early but I beg to differ.
The shaving of my bits wasn't political. It wasn't something I did for a boy or because I peeked too many Playboys. It wasn't because society told me to or wanted me to or because I read some "better oral sex" article in Cosmo. It was just something my friends and I did one day at Jesus* camp, because, well, let's be honest: Nothing makes a hormonally charged teenage girl more desperate to rebel than being told her "private parts" were something to box away for her future husband.
Vaginas are nothing to be ashamed of. So one night, while our camp counselors were sleeping, we tip-toed to the shower, communally dropped trou, pointed our razors to the sky and screamed from the top of our lungs, "what's going on?"
Literally. It was the summer of '95 after all.
And I never
looked grew back.
How about you? What's up** with your pubes.
*my entire group of friends went to church camp every summer regardless of religious affiliation because the head of the ministry was our friend's dad.