I couldn’t find a date on my ‘Veet’ bush removal cream this morning  but I know this; I purchased it in 2007, back when I took pubic landscaping more seriously. (He hadn’t married me yet). As I stood in my bathroom surveying the work surface, I did consider moving this project to the garage. Veet seemed a bit ambitious. This might be a job for Black and Decker. Also I might be violating some sort of wildlife preservation law. The instructions advised that I apply the cream liberally and leave it  for 5 minutes before washing. I assumed this was aimed at the kind of ladies who stay on top of things and merely need to tidy up a 5 o’ clock shadow. The kind of lady I was before I  subscribed to Netflix and purchased lounge wear. With this in mind, I applied the cream “liberally”. To be completely honest, you could have scalped an alpaca with the amount of Veet I dabbed on my crotch this morning. My nether regions looked like a postcard for an Alpine ski resort. Any of you who have used this product can appreciate how weird it smells  It’s hard to describe the scent because it’s so unique but the closest thing I can equate it to is the whiff off the Carbery cheese factory I drive past on my way home to Bantry….Its got a base note of ‘dairy byproduct’ to it.


Guessing that 5 minutes was not going to have much of an impact on the rain forest I’ve been cultivating, I went about my morning duties. I walked bow legged down the stairs while my children enquired about the funky smell, checking whether the bin had been left open. I made them egg and soldiers and cooked some gluten free porridge for myself. I was a bit concerned because the instructions had vehemently warned against getting any of the cream in…sensitive crevices so I had to adopt a frog pose while I  moved about.  It was quite difficult to maintain this stance when Bertie (my crazed beagle) began poking his head up my robe to investigate the mysterious scent. He wrongly assumed that  a fox had died up there and the hunting instinct kicked in. Game over. Cream in my crevices. I had to leg it into the shower before my lady parts disintegrated.

I had attempted to stick to a pattern when I applied the cream, thinking a little landing pad would be nice. Unfortunately the clammy summer weather, my fight with Bertie and the fact that i had left it nearly ten times longer than recommended had caused some flooding and I was left with nothing. I wanted a B.A. Baracus and I got  Jean Luc Picard

This is all very daunting. The hedge trim was all part of my reinvention process. I’d already decided it was time to trade Sean in as soon as I’m hot.  He has seen too much for his own good. I think he gets flashbacks…I’ll be the purple faced gremlin who passed a human before his very  eyes until he draws his last breath and I’m still not entirely sure I didn’t pee on his shoes delivering our first born. He said, “Oh there goes her waters” but the midwife said the exact same thing about 45 minutes later. He had to assist with my toiletting during the ovarian cyst rupture of 2016. That ship has sailed. I will miss his poached eggs and gentle nature. However, I need to stay positive. Gerard Butler and I are going to be very happy together. He appears to have a great sense of humour which is going to be vital when he sees some of the tax bills he’s going to need to pay for me. Also, he probably eats a lot of chicken fillets to maintain that yummy bod’. My crotch looks like a chicken fillet now. He’s bound to see how much sense we make. Our physical connection will likely compensate for any cultural differences. All I know for sure is, the next time I need a trim, I won’t  to taking on the bikini area single handed. What I did this morning was WAY out of my jurisdiction.  Next time I’m paging Diarmuid Gavin IF YOU LIKE THIS POST PLEASE LIKE/SHARE/FOLLOW THE MEATY MAMMY BLOG xxx



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