The word on the Twit-vine is that The Bush Is Back.
First, Julia Roberts came out as having actual hair under her arms, then Cara Delevigne made it OK to have eyebrows again and now the gurus that be have decided that the furry muff gets this season’s thumbs up.
It is a confusing time for women. The cyber world seems to have taught us that not only should I be hitting notes of pleasure only dogs can hear any time a man so much as swipes right, but that as a grown woman I should not actually possess any form of bodily hair whatsoever.
And so comes the dilemma of deciding what exactly to do about something that, according to the increasingly accessible world of porn, doesn’t actually exist.
The destructive effects of porn have been widely documented, and yet it still astounds me when I hear stories like the one my friend Abi told me about a work colleague who talked loudly, and proudly, about the fact he refused to go down on his missus because she had only had her bikini line done and he wouldn’t go near the thing until it was all gone (conveniently forgetting the state of his own member which he expected to be serviced regularly, despite the abundance of Willy-Whiskers).
And another friend who had the full Hollywood done, which included having her bum hole waxed too, only to discover that the delicate lining of fuzz had actually been acting as a natural wind buffer and now her farts were uncontrollably loud.
But perhaps all these horror stories will be a thing of the past, now that it will no longer be the norm for women to pluck their muff until it resembles the last sad-looking bit of chicken in Tesco – the one everyone picked up, squeezed and put back.
And, of course, there will be a whole generation of women who will suddenly have a lot of extra time on their hands now that their lady-gardens are being left to grow wild.
What will we do now that we have all this extra time on our hands? The possibilities are endless.
Since I stopped de-furring my poonani, I have learned Hungarian, opened an orphanage and become a qualified Ferret-Whisperer. I’m now writing a series of children’s books and the future looks bright.
Who knows where it will end. Perhaps we’ll all become like the Finnish people who never stopped worshipping the pube.
Or perhaps, like onesies, it’s just another fad that will fade before my short and curlies have had a chance to fully bloom.
All I know is, just like flares, Morocco and the 70’s, the bush is back and I’m going to ride that furry wave to the end.
