In Wilderness

It is a relatively well-guarded secret among people over a certain age that, how shall I phrase this, forestation of the body parts becomes more diverse and profuse in its covering of the landscape.

Rarely spoken of in mixed company, it is a subject that may arise in single-sexed gatherings where young members of said sex may be grossed out beyond what they deem acceptable. Which is really saying something considering the capacity for gross many of the young people of my acqaintance are gifted with.

The merest mention that some shaving or epilation of areas other than the legs or armpits may be required before venturing to the swimming pool is met with unguarded disgust of the,’Euch! Yeuch!’ variety.

It is then a matter of personal taste and decorum as to whether you choose to enlighten them further and reveal the awful truth that they too will, one day, feel the necessity to venture where no imagination once would have gone in the carefree innocence of the controlled garden of youth.

I have been known myself, in the past, to laugh uproariously at comedians who dare the subject and profess that God’s sense of humour in removing hair from the head only to let it sprout like a well-composted hedge elsewhere is perverse, to say the least.

Apparently, trimming hair from ears and nasal cavities becomes part of the routine of the daily male shaver even while the head may only require lubricating with some baby oil to maintain optimum sheen.

Should hair be remaining on the head, it has been noted that back hair, previously of scattered proportions, has somehow decided to go walkabout and venture north and south in an effort to join up with annexed portions that were mushrooming in lonely isolation.

In efforts to ensure that no area remains uncovered, apart from the head, triffid-like sprouts appear where no follicles were thought to exist, thus maximising the body’s endeavours to return to the ape-like state.

Evolution in reverse?

Difficult to say. Especially when laughing at the owners of said phenomenon who gallantly bring these unknown facts to the wide-eyed and innocent.

I was once such a wide-eyed.

Fortunately, for we of the gentler sex, increased forestation does not appear to make any ingress in the back regions, in awkward orifices, nor does the challenge of follicle diminshment occur on the pate, necessitating more face to wash.

Rather, swimsuits become something more of a challenge and the skirted variety begin to hold some attraction. Not being born in the nineteenth century I refuse to go that route. Perhaps that’s why they did. Who knows?

My own sense of modesty dictates that I keep the trees in the forest and the forest in the woods and the green grass grew all around, around, around…I digress…

Yes, a most uncomfortable subject.

Not half as uncomfortable, mind you, as getting down low and daring with an epilator.

Eyes watering?

My kids’ were when I had to explain why mama can’t go swimming immediately, she was expecting a visit from the axeman.

For anyone under the age of forty – I think that may be around the magic growth-spurt age – this post is merely about gardening.

Anyone older, don’t lie!

In wilderness, you’ll find me with a lady,

Epi, known by name, a friend indeed,

Shares with me some very close encounters,

She visits just as often as I need.

Neglect she can’t abhor, then she is vicious,

Abrupt and fairly sharp in her ingress,

Reminds me not to take for granted friendship,

Lets me wear my very shortest dress,

Gives me grief when growth is not what’s needed,

Tackles all I throw at her and more,

In wilderness, she is a friend for lifelong,

But, fuckaduck, her lessons are so sore.