The Bush Generation Gap

Just returned from Sardinia, watching the grey skies outside my window in Famous Middle of Nowhere, Home not of the Brave, but Home of the Euro (for who knows how long), and pausing a moment to reflect on how post-holiday life has been rather “privates” centered. Our dog, a fuzzy 10 month old white Bichon left in the care of a family while we gobbled up the sun in Sardinia, has licked to his fast beating heart’s content at its privates till his testicles are an alarming raw bundle.  His “lipstick” now comes out in the brightest shades of carnation red at the mere sniff of one tiny morsel of cheese from two rooms away. We left an adorable fuzzy, fluffy, cuddly white Bichon with sparkly “hug me” button eyes and little rosy tongue panting eagerly out. We come home to find all that and a very straight, pointy and constant psychedelic red erection. A perfect Beate Uhse shop window doll.


And then there’s the bush thing. My kid goes on a sleepover at a friend’s house. Comes back the next day announcing, “MOM, do you know that [name of friend’s mom] has no hair in her SNIPPA?!!!”

“Snippa” is a Swedish word to describe the female privates in a cute way, like the word “snopp” for the male privates that has been around much longer than “snippa”. Both words are a cute way to refer to the privates when talking to children – there’s even a video about it – instead of their clinically precise, but not very cute names, or charming but imprecise euphemisms that totally confuse children, like “Peepee” and “Pom-pom” or “Front Bottom” and “Little Man”.

I asked my daughter about how they came up with such a topic. She shrugs and mentions that they were building a large, bubblegum-colored Playmobil fairy castle on the floor, and “just came up with it”.  When I’d picked my daughter up, the girl’s mother, who’s about 15 years younger than me,  had taken me to her daughter’s room and showed me the result of an afternoon of pink real estate development : “They were so sweet and played so well, look what they built!” Bracing myself for what I already knew, I asked my daughter now if she told her friend about the condition of my privates, to which my daughter replied, “Of course!” As in, of course you SHARE information, duh. She tells me about her mom’s privates’ hair (“bald”), I share mine (“bushy”).

The next day I meet said mom at our kids’ school. We share the humor, and she tells me that her daughter ” was also in shock! She came to me and said, MOM: do you know that some women have HAIR down there?!!!!”And a few days later, I read in the book I am currently devouring a definition of “old porn”: early 1990s porn showing hair “top and bottom.”

That’s when I realized this: for people in their 30s or younger now, having bottom hair at all is about as obnoxious as the bushy armpits and hairy halos bursting out of bikinis barely covering the young, blonde and beefy German backpackers setting camp all over Southern Europe in the 1970s.

Moral of the story: I’m officially the older generation. Blame it on the bush.