In the pink.

Mom, and all of my aunts: this post is what we would call Too Much Information.

Last night I was trying like hell to explain some of the Portland exploits to my husband.

The problem was two-fold.
A. everything needs to be ever-so-slightly filtered because he has to see these girls again, and be able to maintain eye contact.
B. some of the things we say and do as a group are just not appropriate for sharing. In fact, some things that were photographed on my phone had to be deleted, because after reviewing them in the light of day I am pretty sure the activities being documented were illegal or incriminating, or at the very least certainly appear that way. One photo actually caused me to drop the phone and cover my eyes and scream. And scream.

And scream. Oh my god, there it is again in my memory, why did I even bring it up.

(shudder)

Anyhooo I was trying to tell Sam a story about "the pink". Sugar was talking about it at the strip club, how pretty it was, etc., and I had no idea what she was referring to. She had to explain that she was talking about, uh, you know..... girl parts. Sugar is an aesthetician reknowned for her bikini waxing abilities - and the girl knows her way around girl parts. AKA, apparently, "The Pink"

True confession time: I don't know anything about girl parts, other than their basic layout and mechanics. I would be a terrible bikini waxer because I would be so distracted by the area I was supposed to be waxing. It would be like a very belated anatomy class - I can say with all honesty that until our big night out at the Acropolis, I had never examined a woman's crotch up close - not even my own. I'm not that flexible, and I don't own a hand mirror, and I dropped out of science after "Survey of Physics" so it's never been on my agenda. I figured Sam, who is quite familiar with the female body and our various parts, and has seen them up close on occasion, would know what I was talking about when I said "the pink". He did not. Not a clue. I tried not to be insulted - you gotta love his innocence. Our marriage has been a life-long education for this poor man.

In an effort to enlighten him, because I am ALL ABOUT continuing education - You are never too old to learn, people - I explained about the pink, and he and I had a good laugh about how I didn't know what it was, and he didn't know what it was, and how in the hell we managed to figure out the mechanics of sex without a therapist and a textbook, and that I vaguely remember Sugar kindly offering to show me the pink - an offer that I remarkably did not take her up on in the parking lot of the Acropolis.

I know, shocking.

So while we all sit here and lament the missed opportunities in life, and the photos I'm not gonna share with you, Sam is going to run out and buy me a hand mirror. He is such a gentleman. I, on the other hand, am calling Sugar.