I've never been to a salon where they trim your mop below.
I've thought about it long and hard, and I just wouldn't go.
The thought of my subregion being cropped by whippersnappers?
Heaven help me! Hell no! I'd run like the clappers!
The very thought of lying back and trying to relax
while a mere teenager fiddles with a razor and hot wax?
On a more practical note, think of the benefits of all that hair.
On a chilly winter's morning, it’s warm and snug down there.
There was just the one time when my nether parts were mown;
for an emergency C section, they deemed my shagpile.overgrown.
I was left with the sexual allure of a raw half skinned chicken
but I dared not protest. I was too horror stricken.
And so, my shaven lady garden was left all stubble-rich
but that was nothing in comparison to the dreadful itch.
In the weeks ensuing, nothing could allay
the frightful irritation of my former lush display.
I found that depilation involves one fatal catch –
constant preoccupation with a place you cannot scratch.
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