**Editors' Note: This guest post hails from a gal who asked to be called "Jane." Names have been changed to protect the hairy.**
It was only 3 months after my own, overly drunken fiasco that I had to wait to see my boyfriend's version. There's probably a Hallmark card somewhere, but I'm not so sure I want to mark the anniversary. My friends who were witnesses have taken it upon themselves to remind me. Regularly.
Here's the story:
Boyfriend comes to my regular-Tuesday-night-supper-club crew's movie night. We had decided to watch the Big Lebowski while drinking white russians. Someone had brought over Kahlua Especial, which is 70 proof. Not realizing that this Kahlua was actually as strong as the vodka we were generously pouring, we generously topped off the drinks with more fire water.
The bottle runs out. Someone reads the label. Holy shit guys, we're a lot drunker than we probably realized. The Dude was only half done abiding so we kept going. Someone went to buy more. Not especial this time, but still. Regular Kahlua is about 40 proof. Nothing to scoff at.
I was taking it easy (strange in itself) because I hadn't brought my A game. Not necessary as I came to find out later as boyfriend brought his.
I went outside to hang with the smokers and catch some fresh air. My dear friend was leaving for several months, so I wanted to see her as much as possible before she left. We chatted about how well it was going with boyfriend.
When I reentered the party, the remaining folk were silent, including my clearly drunk boyfriend.
"Hey guys. What are ya'll talking 'bout?"
"Oh, preferences..." said one of my girlfriends with a derisive smile.
"I told them about my preference for the natural look," said a slightly slurring boyfriend.
Knowing exactly what he was referring to, I immediately blushed red and flustered my way to the coach. Looking around, everyone was smiling at me. They all knew too.
"Well I still keep it manicured. Whatever. When in Rome, do as...whatever. Just whatever."
Later when we were ready to go, I said "Come on Tarzan. We're going home."
My friends still find it immensely funny to say things like, "Don't trip over your pubes" or "You need to comb your hair" or other helpful grooming tips.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
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5 comments:
I know Jane, and I would like to verify the accuracy of this story -- with one exception.
"I still keep it manicured."
Jane, if you were really keeping it manicured, you would not have pushed your tight jeans to the back of the closet because your giant bush made them uncomfortably tight.
But hey, whatever floats your boat.
Zippers and pubic hair don't work. Trust me.
Jane: If your b.f. has some sort of pants troll fetish, that's cool, but it's no reason to ditch the skinny jeans. Ever hear of UNDERPANTS?
My smile is in no way derisive. No deriding. No derision. Everything else is true, though. :)
And. Don't trip over your pubes.
dearest fur burger,
i would advise not to reference what the Romans do, as they are a helplessly hairy breed...but i am incredibly happy for you that you have a boyfriend into the whole amazon thing! that is rad...until he comes out of the closet of course. until then...enjoy the weed-whackin!!
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