Should I Erase You?

Here is a photo I took of my ex-boyfriend with the sun behind his head, on a trip to New York 4 years ago. It was meant to be beautifully backlit, like the one he took of me, but when it was my turn, I accidentally erased his head with natural flare. (no pun intended) 

I remember feeling guilty - like he might think I had done it on purpose, but he found it funny.

I'm having a hard time culling my photo library (and my music library.) It feels weird to have so many photos of an old life with him every time I open iphoto. Should I back them up, and delete them like he never existed? Like couples do on Facebook? Am I being a hoarder? What's the best thing to do here?

I suppose I can at least keep this one.

Brazilian Wax – to the left, to the left!

At the height of brazilin waxing popularity, in 2006, I had the glorious idea of getting creative at a particular session.

I wanted a shape, like a heart or a lightning bolt - just like in SATC, instead of the rectangular landing strip. I’d been waxing my bikini line for years, but only just started trying Brazillians. It was addictive! Especially in Brisbane’s summer, where you often find your self in a pair of bathers.

I asked my waxer, if she did any shapes.

“What kind of shapes?” she asked in a suspicious tone.

“Perhaps a lightning bolt?” I said, nonchalantly.

“Well, we don’t have any stencils, and I’ve never done shapes before, BUT - I can give it a try!”

Note: The words “I can give it a try” when using hot wax on your genetailia, should always, always, always raise a red flag.

So - off to work she went! Spreading wax strategically, at different angles, before tearing it off. She was taking her time, even surveying it from a distance, like an artist would, and I grew confident that she was doing a good job. In fact, I couldn’t wait to see it! My boyfriend, Ralph was going to love it - and be totally surprised!!

“There we go!” she finally said. “I’ve done my best here, considering.” She stood back, looking proud of herself.

I thanked her for putting in so much effort, and then I looked down.

A lightening bolt – it was not. But it was definitely in the shape of a curved arrow, going down and off to the left.

Like a road sign, directing penises away from the target.


Ralph’s brain is already confused enough, when the blood drains to his privates. He certainly didn’t need any more mixed signals from me.

I wanted her to fix it. To take it all off. Going bald eagle would be my only choice.

But she just stood there smiling happily in her art work, and all I could say was:

“Oh, that’s great! I love it! Totally love it!”

Fuck! I do this in hair salons too. I wasn’t about to shave, and have stubble in the shape of an arrow growing from me, so that night before getting naked, I warned Ralph:

“Babe - today I went in to get a lightening bolt fashioned in my pubic region, as a lovely surprise, and something a bit different… but the girl mustn’t have been very good at art in school, and, well – this happened…”

He took one look at the arrow, and was rolling around on the floor in fits of laughter.

Which was actually the best thing ever. A bit of humour is essential in the bedroom, and it was a welcome change!

Also, Beyonce wrote a song about it:
“To the left, to the left… everything you own, in a box to the left.” Ha ha ha.