No, That's Alright. I'm Good. (Save the Va-Jay-Jays)

My husband, Black Man Not Blogging (BMNB), cuts his own hair. As he stands in front of the mirror in nothing but a towel, clippers in hand, I often suggest in jest that he let me take the clippers in hand and tidy him up "down there." "You know, some man-scaping, " I say with a wink and a smile. He always smiles, shakes his head and says, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Of course he says this. What man would let anyone -- male, female or otherwise -- close to his manly parts with a pair of clippers?

This is where, I'm sorry to say, men have more sense than women.

I spent much of Sunday on the couch watching TV and recuperating from the cooking marathon that was Thanksgiving. I happened upon a documentary on the BBC America channel about women getting surgery on their personal lady parts to make them "perfect." I'm talking slicing labia, ladies, in pursuit of some idea of what the perfect punani looks like.

Ieeeuuuw!!!!! You don't see men going around getting cosmetic surgery on their stuff. Most men are born thinking their stuff is perfect and, if you don't think so, that's YOUR problem, not theirs.

We ladies need to think more like them.

Think of all the things we do to ourselves in pursuit of some idea of perfection -- we wax our eyebrows, upper lips, chins, legs, personal lady parts, and, for porn stars, butt cracks. We inject collagen in our lips and Restylane, Juvederm and Botox in our faces. We use lasers to remove underarm hair. We dye the hair on our head and sometimes the hair down under to "make sure the carpet matches the drapes." We get breast implants and breast reductions, butt implants and butt liposuction. For goodness' sakes, we wear Booty Pop panties!

Do men do any of this stuff? Noooooooo. Why? Because they think, "No, that's alright. I'm good."

The documentary featured a teen-aged girl who wanted to get surgery on her hoo-hoo because she had been teased about it by her sister and her friends. WTF?

First, I haven't seen any of my sisters' va-jay-jays since I was a kid in the bathtub. The only people who should be seeing your hoo-hoo is you, your gynecologist, and maybe your husband. Maybe. Heck, I can't even think of the last time I took a mirror and explored my Netherlands. Why bother? I can wash without looking -- I could wash my stuff in the dark. Why do I need to look? Why does anybody need to look? As long as everything is clean, healthy and in good working order, who cares?

Second, maybe it's because I'm older, but I'm not getting surgery on anything unless it's a last resort. Surgery is by definition an invasive procedure that opens the body up for infection. Va-jay-jays, by virtue of their location, are a prime spot for infection. Can you imagine how stupid you would feel going to get cosmetic surgery on your personal lady parts and coming out of the hospital with flesh-eating bacteria on your personal lady parts? How stupid would that be?

Third, I think God put all those nerve endings down there for a reason -- so it would hurt if you messed with his creation. Imagine how you would feel once the anesthesia wears off.

Fourth, I think this is just another conspiracy from the plastic surgery industry to get women to part their legs and part with their money. Who said there's an ideal look for pocketbooks? What next -- Va-jay-jay beauty contests, complete with scholarships and talent competitions? Just skip the foolishness. If you feel insecure about your personal lady parts, just go put a tiny tiara on them and keep stepping. Tiaras always make me feel better.

Ladies, let's save the va-jay-jays. If someone suggests that yours doesn't look right or needs surgery, just smile, shake your head, and say, "No, that's alright. I'm good." Because you are.