I like to think of my lady garden as something that isn’t to be discussed in casual conversation. 

I can’t speak for anyone other than myself, but it wasn’t until … actually I’m not going to finish that sentence.  All I will say is that I don’t discuss the garden or gardening with anyone without the appropriate licensing.  Perhaps that is why I was shocked when one day over breakfast a friend started questioning me on this very topic.

This friend isn’t part of the usual motley crew I share most of my adventures with.  She was one of those friends I see maybe once or twice a year.  We like to catch up on where our lives are since our last meeting. Typically we do this over coffee and pastries or breakfast as was the case this time.

I cannot tell you what prompted this discussion (maybe I shouldn’t even use the word discussion since only one of us was making coherent sounds –  and it wasn’t me) as it was totally out of the blue.

Inquisitor:  “Have you ever heard of Brazilian waxes?” 

Me: “Yes. Can you pass the sugar please?”

Inquisitor: “Does it hurt?  Have you done it? When did you do it?”

My mind responded with three quick, “what? What? What?” 

Although my ‘inside voice’ didn’t spill out of my mouth my coffee did, leaving a warm stream of  dribbling to run down my chin.

Inquisitor: “You didn’t answer my question.”

Me: “I know. Could you pass butter.”

Inquisitor: “Well, I’m asking because…”

And off she went to the races with her questions.  Where should she go?  How does it feel?  Does it add to your pleasure….

By this point my mind’s chant had gone from ‘What? What? What?’ to ‘omigosh!  Omigosh!   O. MY. GOSH!!!”

With each question my mind continued with its chant of ‘omigosh’ until I suppose I eventually fell into a trance that brought back a repressed memory from years ago.

During my late 20s my Mom and I were gym rats.  At least four times a week we’d take the subway from our respective jobs to our gym in uptown to work out.  Mom would typically do a boot camp (I’m embarrassed to say I could not keep up with my Mom) while I did weights and cardio.  Then we’d return to the locker room together and catch up on our day.

Being and admitted chatter-box I typically didn’t pay much attention to what was going on around me until one day my Mom said this: “Manth (no typo here.  Mom would call me Mantha or Manth), is it me or are a lot of these women walking around naked to show off their new wax jobs and tattoos?  At that moment I started to look around and noticed Mom was right. 

Now, you all know that women typically do not parade around each other naked.  This is simply something we do not do.  Perhaps it’s because basically all have the same parts.  Maybe it’s because we don’t see the need.  I really don’t know.  But, this gym was different.  There were a LOT of women who engaged in the naked-parade.  And a lot of them should not have.

As I looked at these women it was clear as they stood about chatting to each like it was nothing out of the ordinary that there had been various degrees of ‘gardening’ going on.  Some had simple runway strips; others had their strips finished with an arrow design that I can only suppose served as a visual aide for a directionally challenged lover; and there were also a few who took their grooming to the extreme of being completely void of all foliage. 

My detailed descriptions do come from having taken a ‘good look’ at these women.   They obviously wanted their landscaping to be viewed because (a) they made a point of walking about naked which is not the norm no matter what any of you has to say and (b) absolutely no woman naked or clothed typically holds a conversion standing with one foot up on bench!   And it is the memory of the latter that I am still trying to purge from my mind.

As much as I would like to, I’ll never forget that terrible day in the locker room when my Mother and I were directly confronted by one of these women.  She didn’t even realize what she’d done.

 The change room was packed as I believe an exercise class had recently finished.   Women were walking about in various stages of dress and undress.  Some getting ready to shower then leave, while others were changing in preparation of staring their workout.  That day Mom and I were part of the group about to leave.

We had almost safely made our exit when Mom quickly bent down to pick-up her shoes that were tucked beneath the bench that stood between us and the exit.   Then it happened as though in slow motion:  a member of the naked-parade placed herself on one side of the bench while Mom was on the other.  Then almost simultaneously, Mom’s head began to rise as the naked woman raised her leg and her foot approached the bench.   Then it happened: Mom was face to face with that woman’s private garden as the woman began chatting to her friends oblivious of her ‘position’.

We were both speechless. 

Thankfully, once the memory was completed I snapped out of my dream stated and was able to focus on my friend.  I don’t think she even realized she didn’t have my attention for the a few minutes.

Inquisitor: “And I’ve done a bikini wax, but..”.

Me: “I’m sorry to cut you off. But, I never discuss my Private Garden.”

 

Laters  & G’Night,

Mantha

 

 

 

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