By EM RUSCIANO
As some of you may know, I have a child on the cusp of womanhood.
I know! I am as shocked as you are that someone as young looking as me could possibly have a child about to go through puberty. (Come on guys, I need this. Just nod in agreement, okay?)
This very fact has driven me to write a show for the Melbourne International Comedy Festival called “Puberty Rhythm and Blues”.
This is not a ‘subtle plug for my show’, this is a ‘smack you over the head with my show’ situation – but Mama needs to sell tickets and I need my people there. That’s you lot, the Mamamia community – you’re my people. (You and gay men.)
I had to ask my eldest daughter’s permission when I decided puberty was what I wanted to write jokes and sing songs about in the MICF. She was hesitant at first, but after I explained that it was more about me (what a surprise) and how I was going to handle her experiences of going through puberty – plus what had happened to me at her age – she was totally cool with it.
You see, puberty was particularly horrific for me for one reason. Body hair. I had ALL the body hair. If you didn’t have any, then I assume that is because it fled your body and found its way to me.
Friends, it was horrific. I was tucking it in every five seconds. I was an Italian girl with pale skin. The stuff was growing everywhere from my stomach to the tops of my feet.
I was like a hobbit with a taste for glitter.
I didn’t know what to do about it. My mother wouldn’t tell me how to go about removing it because she thought there was nothing wrong with the Koala ears poking out of my green school Speedos.
Also, my mother is a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aussie who would never understand what it’s like to be able to plait the hair growing on your forearm. (I wish I was joking, but I’m not. Not even one bit.)
I got so desperate once I stole an old, rusty BIC razor from my Dad. No-one had ever explained to me the need for lubrication when shaving, so the result was a cut on my inner thigh so bad it needed stitches and a tetanus shot.
Oh, it gets worse friends. Once, on a trip to Priceline (how great is Priceline? I always feel like there is a world of possibilities when I walk in there. Namely, the possibility that I can walk out a better, more attractive person), I saw something called a “silky mitt”.
I knew mum wouldn’t buy it for me. So I stole it.
I am not proud of this fact, but those aforementioned hairs had started appearing ON MY NIPPLES Y’ALL!