Your Valentine Vajazzle Headquarters

Picture 2I sincerely wish I was the kind of person that could ignore a sign at my hair salon that proudly proclaimed “We specialize in Valentine Vajazzles“, but I can’t. I have a bad habit of being overly curious and maybe just a tad, opinionated. Some might call it having a faulty brain to mouth edit system, I prefer to think that I’m only verbalizing what everyone else is thinking. It’s my one true gift in life (well that and complaining). When I entered my hair salon and was greeted with the vajazzle sign I loudly said, “Yuck!” followed by “Are you kidding me?”

I proceeded to complain to my young stylist and she smartly agreed with everything I was saying.  After she was done trimming my hair I asked her to fess up and tell me the truth about her thoughts on vajazzling. I figured she was in her twenties and prime vajazzle material. This is where I got the shocker, she tells me that it isn’t her age group that gets their lady parts waxed and bejeweled. It’s women my age (middle-aged moms). This disturbing news troubled me into the next day. So much so that when I’m waiting to pick up kids from school I share my disgust of a Valentine Vajazzle with a cluster of other moms. I expected a unanimous response of ick but what I get is one E.S.H.M (Elementary School Hot Mom.  Think skinny jeans, Uggs, tight shirt with full cleavage exposure and half gloves.  It’s like she thinks her fingers or so sexy she doesn’t dare cover them up.) who enthusiastically says, “Oh no, it’s a great present! My mom got me one last year for Valentine’s Day!”

My first reaction is that I must have misunderstood her, so I ask nicely without a trace of revulsion in my voice, “Did you just say your mom?”

“Yes,” she quickly replied, “My mom gave me a gift card for a Valentine Vajazzle. It was awesome!  They had all these cute heart-shaped crystals and I had them placed in a heart design where the point of the heart pointed to my, you know, opening.”

This doesn’t happen often, but I was rendered speechless. Then the bell rang and kids starting herding out of the school which meant the time for me to make a comment and/or have a follow-up question was over. I had no choice, but to head to my Facebook page to share my horror, but even that couldn’t calm me. I became obsessed with finding out more about the Valentine Vajazzle and the woman who get them.

The very next day, to quench my curiosity,  I get on the phone and call the owner of the salon I go too and ask for an interview. I tell her I’m writing a story on Valentine’s Day and want to add in the Vajazzle angle. She told me to come right in. I showed up with a notepad and pen and began my descent into hell the world of vajazzling.  As soon as I get there she asks me two questions that got a great big NO!  Did I want to see someone being vajazzled and did I want a complimentary vajazzle? I’d sooner see someone give birth than watch a vajazzling and I’d almost sooner give birth than be vajazzled. I quickly took control of the interview and shared with her the question foremost on my mind. What kind of client opts for a vajazzle? Her response left me feeling soiled and deeply ashamed for my demographic – Yes, dear God it’s true – the vajazzle clients are women my age and older! Once, my breathing returned to normal I said, “What do you mean by older?”

The salon owner smiled and said, “Well, we call it the Granny Vajazzle.”

Keep breathing ladies, inhale, exhale, deep breaths and soon everything will be alright. Are you better yet? I hope so because I must, in the spirit of good journalism, keep reporting.  I tried not to show my fear and followed up with the only question I could think of why? “Why would a grandma get a vajazzle?”

The salon owner said it was simple economics.  “A vajazzle can cost upwards of $300 and not many twenty-somethings have that kind of disposable income for a treatment that, at best, lasts a week.  Now, our older women tend to have two things – more money and more time and the vajazzle is a fun little thing to do.”

I’m thinking to myself wouldn’t a “fun little thing to do” be taking your grandkids to the movies? When did a vajazzle become a ladies who lunch hobby?  Now that I was in deep vajazzle territory there was no going back I had to plunge forward, “If you don’t mind sharing what’s the oldest age woman you’ve given a vajazzle to?

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” she said. “I’m guessing our oldest is probably 73.  She comes in once a month.”

Deep breaths, readers, deep breaths. Suddenly, a mother buying her daughter a Valentine Vajazzle gift card all makes all kind of sense.

I left the salon feeling nauseated and fearful for womankind. What does it say about us if our grandmas, our nanas, our own mothers are getting their down unders, de-foliated and adorned with crystals?  I’ll tell you what it says. It says vajazzles are now a health crisis. I strongly believe, with my one semester of required college level health sciences, that a vajazzle is now one of the foremost signs of dementia, perhaps pre-alzheimers. Ladies, I think the time has come to tell our mom’s to drop their drawers. In the name of science and geriatric health, it’s our duty as daughters, to make sure our moms are vajazzle free and if they are sporting a jewelled hoo ha, then you know what you have to do – schedule an M.R.I. stat!

***For all things wonderfully Snarky go to where you can find the new winter Snarky line of clothing and accessories. (Flannel Snarky P.J.’s anyone?) Plus, there’s my book – Snarky in the Suburbs Back to School. (Click here for purchase information.)

Here’s a little ditty about it: The Spring Creek Elementary School PTA board (a coven of Mean Moms dressed in Uggs, yoga pants, and dermal filler) is up to no good.  Wynn Butler (middle-aged, uncool, and not bringing sexy back) is determined to find out what’s going on. With help from her two kids, a Roomba vacuum turned mobile surveillance drone, and a few good friends, Wynn launches a covert investigation that leads to the “mother of all revenge capers” at the school’s annual Fall Festival.  If you’ve ever fantasized about smoke bombing the idiot parent who has yet to master the fine art of the school drop-off lane, or standing up and shouting, “Liar, liar, Botox on fire” during a PTA meeting, then this delicious tale of payback is for you. To stay up-to-date on new posts and take part in my not so deep thoughts click on this Facebook link – (That’s the abbreviated link to my FB page) or I twitter @snarkynsuburbs.