If These Lips Could Talk

My friend MJ went to the gynecologist last week for her annual exam, and no, she doesn’t care if I tell you. She called me in the morning before her appointment just to check in, which is what friends do when they don’t have actual time to spend with each other. These brief calls are typically conducted via cell phone as we drive around town, since no one sits still for a corded conversation anymore. Anyway, we were going over our day’s agendas for each other when she mentioned her exam. Then she asked me one of those personal questions, which are also easier to ask over the phone rather than in person.

“Do you tidy up down there before you go to see the doctor?” she asked me, more demurely than she is ever capable of in real life.
“No, I prefer to go in all overgrown, preferably with little bits of toilet paper and lint stuck everywhere. She has to use a machete to cut through the underbrush,” I told her. She didn’t answer. “Not really,” I said. “Everyone cleans it up a little. Some might even get a blow-out, maybe use a little mousse or gel.”
“Seriously,” she tried again. “Should I shave before my appointment?”
"Of course you should! It shows you care. Perhaps while she is between your thighs you should ask her preference. Not with her own, but as a professional. Does she like it up or down? Maybe braided?”
“I know, I’ll do a landing strip,” MJ said cheerily. “No, wait, definitely the Hitler.”

The Hitler, also known as Hitler’s Mustache, is the name MJ and I coined for a neatly trimmed trim, all boxy and Germanic, which resembles the notorious Aryan’s upper lip, only on your lower ones. I think you get the idea. Landing strip, the Hitler, lightning bolts, a sweet little heart. I wonder if waxing kits come with templates.

“Mach schnell,” I said. “That’ll get the doctor's attention. Achtung!”
‘I think I will ask her what she likes,” MJ said.
“I think you should,” I answered. “I once asked a massage therapist her position on moaning during a massage.”
“For real?” MJ asked.
“Yeah, I've always wondered if it creeped them out when people make noise. It’s bad enough they have to rub another person’s naked body, but to listen to their expressions of enjoyment while they do it? Blech. It’s not like they get to rub anyone they would actually want to touch.”
“Well, what did she say?”
“She said noises are kind of like feedback. But come to think of it, she didn't say if that was good or bad. I stayed quiet. So anyway, let me know what the doctor says about her pube preference.”
"Will do. Later, tater."

MJ called me back later with the report.

“So? What did she say?”
“I chickened out,” MJ admitted. “She’s all business, very ‘wham, bam, thank you ma’am.’ There wasn’t a window for casual conversation. I lost my nerve.”

MJ and I go to the same gynecologist. She is the model of OB-GYN efficiency. She’s out of there before you even realize she’s in.

“Well, did you at least get a rectal?”
“No six pack today,” MJ said.
“Why don’t doctors do that anymore? I used to get that done every time, but now it’s like they don’t care enough.”
“Maybe you could ask her that next time you go,” MJ offered.
“Like I’m gonna ask her to stuff her finger up my ass? I don’t think so. And now I don’t even know how to wear my pubic hair to her liking. Thanks for nothing.”

I’m curious about professions that deal with the human body in general and, more specifically, its orifices and odor-producing regions. Does the dentist know what you ate last by the smell emanating from your gaping pie hole? Does the nail technician think your feet stink and your calluses are disgusting? Does your hair dresser gag a little at combing out your dandruff? What does the Pilates instructor think when someone’s ass goes off during the open leg rocker? Is everyone else more comfortable with their bodies, or the human body itself, and I am the uptight exception? I don’t think so. After all, at least one other person I know worries about the appearance of her pubic hair before stepping into the stirrups. No wonder we’re such good friends.