Over the past few years, ET has become accustomed to being, let’s say, ‘looked at’ quite a lot.
As embarrassing as such events always were, she has always been brave and willing, not to mention she always ensured everything was well maintained.
Of course, as they are wont to do, time and circumstance take their toll.
Keeping things in order down there while heavily pregnant seems to be about as easy as trimming the fringe on an nervous monkey while blindfolded.
As a result, nature has taken its course, and reclaimed the territory previously tamed by the hand of man. This in itself isn’t an issue, it’s a matter of personal taste even, it can be worn as a symbol of one’s German-ness, or as a badge to signify membership of the 1970’s pornographic motion picture society fan club.
What is an issue of course, is modesty. Not to mention the fact the poor child would be in serious danger of strangulation when it pokes its wee head through my wife’s great life-giving portal. We’d need a team of Australian bush firefighters in the delivery room to clear the child a path to safety.
So, partly because I am the greatest spouse that ever existed, and partly because she ordered me to, I gifted her a session at her favourite massage, beauty and Enya’s-greatest-hits-playing parlour.
There she would avail of the ‘Mama Massage’ for women about to blow, something not to be confused with the ‘Big Mama Massage’ available up the road in Amsterdam for men about to blow. More importantly, the session is to include a certain amount of personal foliage landscaping, where the good ladies of the establishment in question would don protective eyewear, then hack and battle their way through the excess undergrowth of the most Amazonian of undercarriages.
I was admiring this mental image, as you do, when another one bossed its way into my frontal lobe. What would the scene be like, if my heavily pregnant and amnioticly blessed wife’s waters should break right there and then?
Some poor beauty college graduate, herself wearing only the finest of cosmetics, would be half way through her masterpiece, sawing and waxing, hacking and trimming, when all of a sudden she gets a face full of foetaljuice.
Assuming she knows how to swim, would she finish the job? Would the gift voucher remain valid? Would the half cleared emergency exit be deemed a fire hazard and force the hospital to opt for a C-section?
Would this child ever just get out here already?
3 weeks, 2 days.
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