The Air Down There

When did men get so concerned about personal grooming?

Not that I’ve ever had a problem in this arena, but I don’t remember “manscaping” being such a popular topic in years past.

Now we have products to keep a man trimmed, smooth, and powder-fresh. Even major, blue chip companies are jumping on the bandwagon.

Philips, the 117 year-old company that manufactures Avent baby bottles, Sonicare toothbrushes, and the Norelco shaver, has a promotional video on its website entitled “Second Puberty And You: An Illustrated Guide About What To Expect.”

It’s worth a watch, with a funny tongue-in-cheek presentation. (Thanks for forwarding, Miguel!)

The video represents a brilliant marketing approach; they made it funny so guys can pretend they’re watching it for comedic value rather than hanging on every word.

You know that when a product promises “an extra optical inch,” guys are paying attention.

New products are now addressing personal odor, as well as appearance. No longer content to just wash and go, some men are taking deodorants to the next (lower?) level.

According to the sample literature, NuBoss is a “deodorant created especially for a man’s genital area…with a light refreshing scent for a man’s private area.” Guaranteed to work for 24 hours, NuBoss is 100% natural, but without the offputting natural penis smell.

As the tagline says, “When you allow your woman to get this close, you had better be straped [sic] with NuBoss Deodorant Jock Spray.”

I love the photo of this obviously satisfied couple. They’re both enjoying the NuBoss scent wafting up from below. You can sense the woman’s pleasure and gratitude.

NuBoss is available in Cool Breeze, Lust, Savage, and Vanilla fragrances. It’s alcohol free, so you can use it even if you’ve just nicked yourself with your personal groomer.

I would show you a picture of the sample can that I had, but one of my male friends swiped it. Seriously, we were joking about it and the next thing I knew, it was gone.

I guess he wants to be straped in case his woman gets that close.

One word of warning: you can’t really buy groomers and genital deodorants as gifts. I’m guessing that nothing kills the mood like being told that you’re repulsively hairy or that your privates smell so bad that your partner actively sought and paid for a product to mask your funk.

Please note that I’m not complaining about this increased attention to personal hygiene. I’m already on record as being opposed to funk. I‘m just love that a new industry can sprout up (!) around an issue that has traditionally been solved by soap and water.

God Bless America.

De Agony of De Pleats

Although I normally avoid controversy on my blog, I’m going to take a stand: I am firmly opposed to pleated pants, both for men and women.

For women, they were never really flattering, and they went out of style around 1985.  Women’s pleats are designed to camouflage a chubby stomach while sucking in the waist.  In practice, they actually made bellies pooch out and bottoms appear three times bigger their actual size.  Ladies soon tired of the resulting onion-shaped silhouette.

For men the trend lasted longer, but they’ve now joined sweater vests and turtlenecks as being a fashion “don’t” for the under-sixty crowd (don’t worry, Dad, you still look fabulous).  They look outdated, and they make men’s legs look shorter.

I’ve tried to enlist my husband, SJ, in my war on pleats, but I’ve had little success.  At first I made subtle comments and suggestions, like “I bet you’d look great in some flat-fronted pants,” and “look how nice that guy’s abdomen looks in his plain front pants!”

That last one backfired a little.

A Bridesmaid’s Job

Love is in the air in our family.  Both of my sisters, Melissa and Kaye, are getting married.  Both of them found great guys who will make great husbands and, more importantly, great brothers-in-law.  

Preparations have begun.  Dates have been chosen, venues selected,dresses ordered, and attendants invited.  I’m honored to be a bridesmaid in both weddings, Melissa’s in October in Los Angeles and Kaye’s next May in Northern Virginia.

Weddings always make a woman think of her own wedding, whether she’s a girl dreaming of the future or a matron thinking back to her own big day.  My sisters’ preparations bring up all kinds of wedding-related memories for me:  the flowers, the guests, the dress, the ceremony, the handsome husband. 

I’ve been reflecting on what succeeded brilliantly (walking down the aisle behind a bagpiper was pretty sweet) and what failed miserably (here’s some advice:  don’t let your stupid drunk-ass friends slosh red wine near your ivory silk-satin dress).

I’ve discovered with surprise that some of the opinions that I held strongly as a bride have now completely changed. 

The Space Between

Today is our eighth wedding anniversary (that’s actually our twenty-fourth anniversary in Hollywood years).  On this auspicious day allow me to share one of the secrets of our marriage:  piracy.

I don’t mean the kind with peg legs and parrots (though my husband might look dashing with spyglass and eyepatch).  I mean the kind that my preschool daughter demands in the bathroom:  “MomMMY!  Get out of here; I need some PIRACY!”

In other words, sometimes we need to be alone.

I’ll Allow It*

When my brother and I were about four and six years old, my parents informed us that we would start receiving an allowance.  If we helped out around the house and cleaned our rooms every Saturday morning, we would earn ten cents a week.

Although this wage was paltry even in 1978 (candy bars cost a quarter then, to give some context; wow, my folks were cheap!), money was money, and we gladly accepted the deal.  Eventually our pay increased and we began to save up our allowance, plus birthday and Christmas money, for specific purchases.

I set my sights on a portable cassette player (this was before boom boxes and walkmen) from the J.C. Penney catalog.  It cost $23, plus tax, and it took me about six months to sock away enough money to buy it. 

Sounds Familiar. What A Shame.

I try not to blog about political issues, but I can’t stop thinking about the Eliot Spitzer prostitution scandal. So much for the justice crusader; the bigger they are, the harder they fall.

We’ll just add him to the wall of shame. He’ll have plenty of company.

Here are a few thoughts:

1. Spitzer should be impeached for sheer stupidity or hubris.

My March Miracle

Something wonderful has happened at our house. Think of it as the opposite of the Hanukkah miracle: something awful that was seemingly going on forever is coming to an end. That’s right; we are coming to the end of our mammoth-sized package of Costco toilet paper.

It was an innocent mistake. Costco’s Kirkland brands are usually better than average. I’ve been pleased with their frozen shrimp, their bulk chicken, and their batteries, among other products. I’m a suburban mom; I love me some Costco!

With TP on my list, I wheeled my cart into the back-of-the-store aisle where mountains of paper products lined the shelves. The Kirkland brand was significantly cheaper, so I decided to give it a try. “How bad can it be?” I asked myself.

I can now say with authority that it can be very, very bad.

Valentine’s Day Thoughts: Romance And Reality

It’s been a year of weddings in our family.  My sister, my sister-in-law, and my sister-in-law’s sister are all getting married within a fourteen months of each other, while another sister teeters on the brink of engagement.  Love, marriage and caterers are in the air.

I attended one of these nuptials last September.  My husband, SJ, and I were enjoying our first adults-only weekend since 2005, with the kids safely stowed away with friends.

I examined the wedding program after settling into our pew.  On the first page was a beautiful poem* that I assume was meant to capture the couple’s love for each other.  It spoke of romance, passion, mutual adoration, and lovers bathed in the light of pole stars through eternity.   

“I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times…
In life after life, in age after age, forever
My spellbound heart has made and remade the necklace of songs,
That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms,
In life after life, in age after age, forever.”

In short, it was a love poem obvously written before the sleepless nights, leaky diapers, and stretch marks of parenthood.

But wait before you scoff. 

Boys Are Dumb (?)

I am absolutely convinced that I married the ideal man.  Smart, hard-working, loving, and handsome, I know I got a great catch.  I am constantly reminded, however, that the ideal man is still a man. 

As most girls realize by the time they’re in grade school, boys are dumb.

If a boy or man says or does something wrong (doesn’t call for three days, yanks your pigtails, remarks at the end of the night that wow, your panty lines are really noticeable in that maternity dress, etc.) you can usually chalk it up to their gender.  It’s like their Y chromosome is an really X that lacks its fourth leg — the one that houses emotional sensitivity and common sense.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You

I received the most wonderful gift in the mail last week: a thank you note. It was for a birthday present given so long ago that I can’t remember what month it was…June? July?

I sincerely call this a gift because I am terrible at thank you notes, so I’m thrilled to find someone as note-challenged as I am. This etiquette flaw has become even more pronounced now that I have three kids. My expanding brood has exponentially increased the number of notes I need to write (add this to the things you should consider when planning a family!)