It has been a fiendishly sweltering day today, and when I stepped from the air conditioned house of a friend this afternoon after dropping The Great Gutsby there for a sleep-over, the heat that assailed my face was like a physical slap. It has been a bit of a crap day. My other half visited his specialist only to be referred for an MRI. I received a text advising a gentleman, who was one of the elderly I do paid care for in town, has passed away. I got in to my car and Michael Jackson's 'Man In The Mirror' was spewing - yes, spewing - through the speakers. I hate this song - it's like hearing an anaemic fairy urinate.
Stupid things are making headlines. Things like a Brazilian woman has filmed Justin Beiber sleeping. What? Justin Beiber sleeps? The Devil you say. I'd be sorry for the Beib if he had not also been photographed fetching a slag up his throat to spit with a ptoot! on the heads of unsuspecting fans below a balcony. But truly, filming somebody sleeping? Why would you do this? Is it to prove he is not a vampire?
Speaking of Brazilians, in this case the hair removal treatment and not the race, today I read an article that suggested good on 70s pubic hair is making a comeback. Yes, the bush is enjoying a revival. A renaissance, if you will. The bush is back! This just goes to prove if you hang onto something long enough, it will come back in fashion. Personally, I do not get the appeal of lying on a kitchen-papered table with my loins exposed and my legs spread like a contortionist's while some person I don't know well pours hot wax on my most sensitive areas and rips out hair by the roots. My eyes are watering as I type. Thankfully I can touch type, and therefore don't have to look at the keyboard. The concept of then rolling onto my stomach and spreading my cheeks for further possible waxing, as I have heard some women do, makes me clench my fists and raise my eyes Heavenward and wail and keen, 'WHYYYYYY?' Anyway, ladies who have kept their pubic hair intact can no longer worry about pressure to have it all ripped out, and get around with a pudenda like a cloven billiard ball now. As they say in the classics, 'Here come de fuzz!'
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