I told him I was ready.

Curled up against him, looking up at him through tired lashes, in front a TV we were no longer watching.

But 3 months of “letting it go” had created a jungle down there. And I knew I wanted that taken care of before we did anything.

I promised Sunday.

And today, as promised, I placed the mirror, spread my legs, and took a breath. If nothing else is proof of how off our sex life has been, this is surely it.

Like a lawnmower in knee deep, wet grass, I wasn’t even sure my shaver was up to it, and I feared getting my hair caught and pulled as a result.

It took several runs over the same places, and it still doesn’t look as groomed as it would if I’d been keeping up with it all this time. It’s more like a rushed buzz cut. A quick prison shave. But at least the bulk of this 3 months’ lapse is gone.

The evidence of what ails us.

And now I really am…


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