Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?

Once upon a time it was enough to take the whippersnipper to the Venus Butterfly before each swim season. THAT was considered grooming in the 80’s you know.

I miss the 80’s.

I had Brooke Shields eyebrows, which were considered quite glam. I used clear mascara to make them stay put whilst out dancing. Shaving one’s legs up to the knees was more than enough. Nothing in the manual about plucking facial hair. In fact, no one noticed facial hair under all those spiral perms. And a quick nick over with dad’s razor each November was all the ol’ Conch Shell desired. Swimmers weren’t as … high then. In fact, my mum wore one of those little swimskirt things. Now I realise why.

It just wasnt a big deal for women, or men. And I can’t remember when things in the grooming department got so damned serious! And technical! When did it all change? Was I awake at the time?

In exchange for a couple of hand-me-down school tops recently, a new Bogan friend of mine offered me a free wax. Seriously. Like… “Darl! Thanks for the clothes! Anytime you need a trim of the love rug or a full Brazilian, just come on over. I’ve got all the stuff!” Hmm. Including a general anaesthetic? A home Brazilian? Ahhhh, no thanks.

And then I come across…. Vajazzling.

Not only are we now ripping the lady fur off the bearded clam, we’re …. sparkling it. Taking to the silk igloo with the equivalent of a bedazzler. And not just in the ‘shake some glitter over the love glove’ kind of way. Actually ripping off the hair and sticking sparkly little crystals on the waxed whisker whacker. Patterns and what-not. The thought of associated daily practicalities make me cringe a little actually. God forbid how those with well-endowed pubes of middle eastern and Mediterranean descent are supposed to cope with the maintenance.

When did pubic regions start requiring art? Are they that starved for public attention? I’m all for freedom of grooming and all that. I think it’s great that we live in an age where women (and men) can glue crystals on their hoo-hah.

But it becomes my business if …

A) I feel societal pressure to chintz the cha-cha. Or...

B) My taxes are being paid to treat minor cuts and grazes in the ER caused by bedazzling injuries to otherwise healthy vajay-jays.

So far, I’m fine with Part A. Seems to still be OK not to vajazzle (thank goodness). But if anyone gives me a home-vajazzling kit when an aromatherapy candle would’ve sufficed, then look out. Or if I get invited to a vajazzling party. There’s just nothing wrong with a good old Tupperware do, with bikkies and a sweet chilli-philly. I'm not being pressured into buying love-heart Swarovski stencils for the honey pot, no matter how good the nibbles and party games are.

I haven’t heard much about vajazzling injuries draining our emergency services sector, but believe me, I’ll be keeping tabs on that. Whenever I (rarely) go to an ER, I like it to be fairly empty. I certainly don’t appreciate having to wait whilst bogans with unnecessary and stupidity-related injuries syphon my tax dollars and use up all the panadeine forte.

Oh. And …. C) Vajazzling becomes my business when it is featured in the mass media, particularly television. I watch quite a bit of telly, being newly unemployed and all (ooopps, I mean ‘a stay at home parent’….) and I’m partial to a predictable evening schedule Monday to Thursday. That new show, Winners and Losers (yes, the Bogan Aussie drama) has caught my attention with classy ice-sculptures and that tall chick who looks like a lesbian but really isn’t and is secretly in love with her business partner and everyone knows it except him (even her gay secretary knows…) and APPARENTLY there’s some mention of vajazzling on my new fifth-possibly-sixth-or-seventh favourite show this Tuesday. Really. So I AM affected by way of mass media cultural influence or … whatever. I am FORCED to learn about how to decorate the stench trench.

But I tell you what. It's not going to happen.

It'll take more than a short-run Aussie drama on channel 7 to get me to change my grooming habits. Nope, there'll be no sparkly Collingwood Magpie on my muff. No twinkling down in tuna town.

Do ya think I'm sexy? If I have to vajazzle in order to get a yes to that question, then frankly, I don't give a damn what you think!

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Do You Think I'm Sexy? Rod Stewart, 1979