A deep dark secret about my beau surfaced two nights ago. I’d like to share it with all of you because—well, it was disturbing to me at first. Now before I get to the meat of it, let me preface what I’m about to tell y’all. My guy and I have known each other for seven years. We started off as good friends and evolved into a couple. I thought I knew everything there was to know about this man. Does he dress left or right? Right. Boob or ass man? Neither, he’s a leg man. Favorite guilty pleasure? “Dancing Queen” by Abba. Favorite food? Güisquiles Rellenos. You get the picture. I floated along in my blissful ignorance, secure in my knowledge of him until Monday night.
The evening started like most—Dishes done, little one in bed, me clacking away at my laptop. All was right with the world. Then my bladder insisted I could ignore it no longer. I saved my WIP and trotted to the bathroom. In my defense, usually when confronted with a closed bathroom door I would knock, but I was still lost in my writer’s fog. Y’all know what I’m talking about. So I didn’t think to knock I just burst right in. Behind the shelter of the door stood my man—my sex machine, hunky construction worker, weight lifting, ESPN watching man in all his glory, foot propped up on the counter while he was shaving his legs. Okay, not so much shaving them as trimming his leg hair with clippers and a #4 guide. Judging from the tidy appearance of other appendages he’d been hard at work on this project.
Once the shock of finding him mid-deforestation passed, I apologized for bursting in on this private moment. But then I just had to ask him what in the hell he was doing.
“I’m manscaping,” he replied, inspecting his freshly trimmed armpits.
“When did you decide to do this?” I asked.
“Cindy, I’ve always done this. You think Mr. Happy comes by a crew cut all on his own?”
He had a point, but I’d always assumed he just wasn’t a very hairy guy. To paraphrase Morrissey, some men are hairier than others. I’ve seen some men naked who looked like they had Buckwheat in a leg lock and others who were almost bald (though now I wonder if the baldies were manscapers, too!)
I’m not sure why I was surprised to find out my guy manscapes. I mean he does walk the line between manly-man and metrosexual. After all he gets more excited about buying shoes than I do, but a full body trim…well, I never knew. And after walking in on him in flagrante delicto, I think it’s best for our sex life if I never witness the process again. I suppose it’s the same as when he happens upon me doing my roots with a mud mask on my face. The results are appreciated, but the process—Not so much. A little mystery in a relationship is a healthy thing.