By ROSIE WATERLAND
You know that moment in Mean Girls when Lindsay Lohan is standing in front of the mirror with her new buddies, listening to them run through a lengthy, detailed list of physical insecurities that she had no idea she was meant to be worried about?
I recently lived that moment. Apparently my vagina is disgusting, and I had no idea.
It may come as a surprise to some (considering the frequent appearances it seems to make in my writing) but my lady-box is not something I regularly think about. At least not the aesthetics of it. And I don’t mean the hair; I mean what’s under it.
(FYI: I’m against waxing – I’ve had one brazilian in my life, which I did for a boy, and I came scarily close to assaulting the beautician. The shock of that experience literally almost sent me into a murderous rage. Any guy who wanted access from that point on needed to accept that I would always pick a pain-free existence over getting freaky with him.)
No, the hair is not the problem. Apparently, I’m gross because I have what’s known as an ‘outie’. This is not something I knew I was supposed to be worried about. In fact, I can honestly say, besides occasionally worrying about how a guy would feel about my strict no-waxing policy (although not enough to actually change that policy), I’ve not once thought that there was anything wrong with the look of my nether regions. I truly have never given it a second thought. That is, until I had a very revealing conversation with a friend of mine that opened up a whole new world of possible insecurity.