So 50 came and went and then out of the blue I got a card that said “now you are 50, you must collect your own shit, scrape it with a stick and send it to us in the post, so we can check if you have cancer of the bowel”

It’s not the welcome to being 50 I wanted. Things are giving me signs, I clicked on TV and Sex and the City was on, there was Samantha getting banged in the downward dog yoga position by a young bloke, she is really old and she isn’t scraping shit and posting it to NHS bowel collection unit is she? No she is having sex that doesn’t even fuck up her hair, when I have sex my hair and body look like I was thrown from a suicide bomb site. In fact when I wake up now- I look as if I have just been rescued from a hostage situation deep in the woods.

Then to make matters worse, I clicked over the channel on TV and there were teens getting their vaginas totally waxed clean and having shiny diamantes studded around the vulva, it’s called a Vijazzle, personally I feel like that men who need a sparkly fanny might not actually be into vaginas . I sat gaping at this wondering if young men today need a glitter sparkling around the vag just so they can locate it. You wouldn’t have John Wayne ripping the bodice off a woman in a Western movie and having to deal with rhinestones around her pussy would you? Things have changed is all am saying.

I recall years ago shaving the top part of my pubes into a love heart for valentines night surprise as a sort of joke for husband (it was in a magazine) turns out vag topiary isn’t my thing I clipped my vag pubes into what can only be described as the start of a swastika. I am blaming using the mirror and clipping at it with a blunt pair of nail scissors just don’t ask me how it happened, but it went fucking really badly wrong. You can’t really repair a swastika shaped pube.

I couldn’t have sex for weeks till it grew back, in case husband took one look at it and thought I was a dedicated neo Nazi. The worse thing was I had to get a smear test done and yes my lovely Jewish doctor was horrified and could hardly believe my explanation, we were never the same again. My life does sound like a sitcom eh?

So my dad got me a £100 worth of beauty treatments and I was so excited I called the salon, not for a Vijazzle or a Hitler obsessed pussy, but just some therapy. Apparently I have lymph nodes and they need draining, were you aware of lymph node draining? I wasn’t. Am not sure they should be drained by a woman in a fake tan and with long scarlet nails and fake eyelashes. The assistant suggested I get fake semi-permanent eyelashes as apparently mine are just invisible now I am 50. One of the buzz words in beauty therapy is semi-permanent; it seems even the job as a therapist is semi-permanent.

I may just get my hair done and spend all the vouchers on that, or go wild and get my bush trimmed into the shape of a pink huggable Care Bear resplendent with pink glitter balloons semi permanently tattooed above my bikini line and every time my husband has sex with me I will shout out “It’s a Care Bear count down 5-4-3-2-1”_
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