WINTER VAGINA

ME: How was the sleepover?

DAD: Good. Isla climbed into bed with me this morning and told me I have hairy boobs.

ME:  That’s pretty funny. She thinks you have boobs. Time to shed a few pounds, huh?

DAD: Then she told me that my boobs aren’t as hairy as her mummy’s vagina.

I’m kicking Isla out of the shower from now on. She’s vagina-obsessed.  At Superstore when I asked the clerk which aisle we could find the shampoo, Isla piped up for your vagina?

This is the part where I’m supposed to defend myself, say I’m between waxings, or the lady who does my Brazilians is napping.  But really, whom are we kidding? I live in Winnipeg. It’s spring. It still snows every second day. My razor is so rusty I’d need a tetanus shot if I tried using it.

Time to call MJ, my Polish lady with the pot of wax and prepare for some pain. And tell my daughter to stop talking about my Winter Vagina.