Just groom

I remember it well. The wife of a colleague of my beloved had given birth and we went to visit. Not only was there a fresh baby, there was also a new Playboy. One had no causal connection to the other, but both were lying in a room, waiting to be admired. It was the time when every month a different celebrity could be admired on the cover (and inside with a staple in the belly) and we all had our eyes on that at the time. The males might have had slightly different motives for looking than we did (we mainly wanted to search for a hint of cellulite and imperfection), but still, we all reached for the Playboy.

For this issue, the editor-in-chief had recruited the Klemann sisters. Everyone was curious about this, as these ladies were the epitome of beauty. The report did not disappoint either. Their hair was lush, the breasts creamy. But then. A huge triangle. Yes, there. Such a seventies bush. It was that they weren't wearing any panties, but that had stood out.

I scoffed and sneered. That this just couldn't be. That we had last seen this in Deep Throat (you know, the cultural-historical masterpiece in which the clitoris of the main actress ended up in her throat, with all the consequences that entails, I might add). I expected agreement, but experienced silence. A painful silence, I must say. They did not agree with me. And then you get an image, which I will not discuss further.

Not long after this incident, we emigrated to Italy. This also had no cause-and-effect relationship to the above incident, although it did make the shock in a Roman gym quite large. Let's rewind. We went to Rome. To live, and thus to food. So a subscription at the local gym seemed to me one of my many basic needs. Every day after my Italian lesson, I worked out with the locals. I was amazed by the women. So tanned, styled, well-groomed, abundant in tattoos AND... you guessed it: a reckless triangle that was proudly displayed (or at least not hidden at all) upon entering the shower area.

The triangle, in short, is a thing. The pinnacle of horror for one, the highlight of sexy for another. Hot in the seventies, back in the year ’00 and now it seems to be making a comeback again. It is fashion after all. And fashion repeats itself. I just have to accept it, although I hope that the hairy hill quickly turns back into the Bermuda Triangle and disappears.