For a long time now I’ve intended to write about this. About how depressing I think it is that as a women, burdened already with so many insecurities and fears of not being beautiful enough, thin enough, elegant enough et cetera fucking et cetera, I must also worry myself to death (or plastic surgery) about the attractiveness of my hoochie. I have found out late in life that even the Sinful Snatch is a target for disapproval. My Clam was significantly furrier when I was younger. I don’t think I really started “grooming” my pubes until I was about 15, when my best friend’s mother informed me that girls needed “to trim a little.” Oddly, every other body hair on me had already been yanked out, tweezed, Naired, annihilated. The Beaver seemed somehow sacred to me then. (now too!) Through the years It has gotten more and more bare and little by little, with horror I’ve come to an awful conclusion. It’s UGLY! I find it disturbing that an area so intimately mine is subjected to some sort of homogenization, some kind of beauty criteria for The Glam Clam. That my Taco is a fashion victim (unfashionable victim?) just as much as the shoes I wear or the purse I carry. I find it even more disturbing that there are costly (and painful) plastic surgery options available to improve the esthetic aspect of….for Christ’s SAKE, don’t we have more important things to think about? Global warming? Syrian genocide? I’ll keep my muffin, the one I was born with. I never wanted to be a porn star anyway.