The Full Hollywood

I wanted a regular bikini wax. Instead I ended up with ^

KELLY CLARKSON, INDEED

I’m back! I have so many good juicy posts coming up. Many have been in draft for ages while I navigated some (more) (good!) (big) life transitions over the past couple of months. I’m excited to finally be returning to these drafts and ideas with a clearer mind and a better sense of humor (I hope). Let’s get into it!

But first: if you’re not a fan of frank talk about sex, vulvas, and pubic hair I strongly suggest you skip this post. We’ll be ok on the other side of this, I promise.

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The Full Hollywood

Body hair is weird. I don’t mean that as a judgment, I mean it as a confused statement. As if it had a question mark at the end. Because why do we have body hair? And I don’t mean literally “why” like “oh it traps your ‘natural musk’” sort of thing because A) no thank you, B) eww, and C) get outta here with that.

Maybe I just think body hair and natural musk and blood (unrelated) and skeletons (also unrelated) are weird because I never like being reminded that I’m nothing more than an upright mammal who can yap. All of my experiences with pregnancy, breastfeeding, and recovering postpartum had this effect on me too. It was in direct contradiction to my previous beliefs that breasts were for honking, uteruses were for regulating, blood is ketchup, and my body isn’t held up by bones but instead by sheer spite.

But, please, allow me to get to some sort of point.

About a year ago I made a spontaneous seasonal grooming decision. I had been dating for about a year at that point and when I say “dating” I mean “aggressively