'What do you call a group of women discussing property prices and drinking chardonnay?' 'A book club' is the classic reply. If only this were true and we could stick to such mundane topics. I might own a sizeable chunk of the property market by now - instead, I find myself lying on a small couch in a compromising position while allowing a stranger to indulge in what can only be described as industrial pubic topiary. Quite how a discussion of the finer points of Jane Austen's prose turned into a heated argument about the merits of the Brazilian wax, I'll never know. But by the end of the evening - and several bottles of wine - it was a truth universally acknowledged that a woman parted from her husband for a lengthy period of time must be in want of a Brazilian wax to welcome him home. So, I made haste to the beauty salon and into the hands of a woman whose pursuit of the hirsute bordered on insanity. With relentless speed, she reduced the target area to the size of a HK$10 coin. 'Do you want more?' she asked, triumphantly holding aloft a strip of cotton that resembled the pelt of a small furry animal. Sadly, my whimpers were misunderstood entirely and before I knew it, 'it' was gone. All of it. Wiping the tears from my eyes, I gazed at myself in the full-length mirror so thoughtfully provided and reacquainted myself with a part of my anatomy I hadn't seen for years. I made good my escape, but not before I was persuaded to have my eyebrows marginalised and my armpits sandblasted. It's a miracle I have any body hair left at all. Still, Jane Austen knew a thing or two. I have to confess I found the process strangely liberating and it certainly shed some light on the smouldering passion Elizabeth Bennet was able to ignite in Mr Darcy with the flash of a finely turned (waxed) ankle. The effect on my own Mr Darcy was considerable and is definitely the gift that keeps on giving. But alas, there are drawbacks: 'short, back and sides' is not a good look on a woman and although I'll try anything once, I fear I'm too much of a coward for a repeat performance. My husband is disappointed, but is keenly awaiting the next book club. He has already suggested several titles of a more lurid nature, so I've had to tell him firmly that we're reading Margaret Thatcher - The Greatest Speeches. This lady is not for waxing.
