>A Bit About My Weekend

>”Lucinda, this is Mindy. She’s been reading your blog.”

Sally, my friend from high school, introduced me to Mindy last night over cocktails at a trendy tapas bar. I was staying with Sally for the weekend, doing what any good wife and mother does when she’s on her own for a few days with her girlfriends: Drinking, talking, drinking, eating, drinking, sleeping late, drinking and… you guessed it. Drinking.

“Oh my god, I spent like, three hours reading your blog while I was supposed to be working. And you have to understand, I never slack at work, but I just couldn’t stop, like, I couldn’t! Oh my god, I feel like I know you,” Mindy was cute and effusive. I giggled. “You’re a good writer. Have you written a book or anything?”

I was really starting to like Mindy a lot.

“Unfortunately, no.”

“Well, I have to ask you, well, I have all these questions, like, how did you meet your husband?”

I told her the story of meeting my husband at work and falling madly and irrevocably in love with him.

“That’s great,” Sally cut in at the first opportunity. She had only heard my little love story about 100 times. “So Mindy, tell me more about Mark.”

“I will,” she laughed. “But first,” she turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I have to know where you got that statistic that 75 percent of women polled are bare floor down there.”

“I can’t remember,” I confessed. “But I think it was Esquire.”

“Yeah. Uh huh. Yeah.” Sally said. We had spent the previous evening with other friends, who also had read my blog and -surprise!- wanted to talk hoo ha. “So you and Mark seem really well-matched, I think.”

“And I’ll talk about him in a second,” Mindy said quickly. “But first,” she turned to me and laughed. “I have to ask. Are you still bare floor?”

“Yep.”

“And you like it?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

And from there, the discussion went pretty much the way it had the night before, as each woman at the table talked about her hoo ha and what she does to make it appealing. There were serious arguments over the merits of a landing strip, questions as to whether bare floor is merely catering to perverts and neat freaks, and secret confessions of hoo has left in their natural state.

As it turned out, I still had a lot to learn. Because it’s no longer about waxing, on all fours or otherwise. No. Today, it’s about laser hair removal. $1200 and five lasering sessions will leave you bare floor… FOREVER.

And I have to admit. It’s tempting.

But that’s another story for another time. My point is that although I have tried to leave my hoo ha story behind, it follows me. Out of cyberspace and into 21-and-up bars (Yes. Apparently, my hoo ha story even has a fake ID). The women of America (and several in Canada and I believe there may even be one in France) are desperately seeking reassurance that their hoo ha grooming choices are acceptable to the male species. And while I really appreciate hearing about all of your hoo has and am shedding a tiny tear of gratitude that you would share such personal information with me (and anyone who comes here looking for “wheelchair diaper grunting poop“), let’s just get one thing straight…

I AM THROUGH TALKING ABOUT MY HOO HA. AND YOURS.

I mean it. It’s going to be at least a few weeks before I’m willing to talk hoo ha with you or anyone else again. Capiche?

Great. So we’re cool.

As for the weekend- I had a blast. I love my friends and wish I could see them more often, but even a few days away has its consequences… Because while I was gone, my husband turned into an irritable garden gnome and tomorrow, I have to go home and kiss him and break the spell. He needs me, people. Ain’t love grand?