Apparently, I’ve let down the sisterhood. The other night I got this email from my sister, which was sent to her sister-girl circle. It followed on a blog that asked women what part of their beauty regimen they keep secret from their mates.

I was wrong out of the starting gate. My first response was “oh, it’s supposed to be a secret?”

Anyway, I got quite a laugh when another early respondent weighed in, saying that she exfoliates her butt in secret.  But then it turned out that the joke was on me, because more sisters were not only shouting “me too,” they were talking about the best products to use.

I was so glad that I stepped out of focus when in response to a comment about tweezing pesky chin hairs in the closet, one woman said that she lets her beau pluck hers.

I’m waiting to see if she remains on the mailing list, the blasphemy of her actions.

Maybe I have it all wrong. Perhaps I’m too practical for my own good. Or maybe there just aren’t enough hours and energy in my day for these kinds of secret. Besides, I kind of feel that after a dude has seen little peanut burst through the … um I mean down there, like really, what’s left to hide?

But in a wider discussion, I found out that some women always wear some form of make-up – mascara, foundation, lip liner or eyeliner. My question is: doesn’t perpetrating that fraud get tiring?

I remember years ago talking to a dude who was adamant that there is no such thing, in his lexicon, as home clothes (by that he was talking about the stretched out, bleached out, too small, ripped articles that are not street worthy but are perfect for lounging or cleaning). Well, Mr Man was like what a turn off, so he banned home clothes, as well as headscarves and curlers.

That’s the kind of stuff that will leave a woman waiting up until the wee hours of the morning for her spouse to fall asleep, so that she can apply the cold cream and get some curls, so that he can wake up and think her smooth skin and curly hair are natural. Now how unnatural is that?

Don’t get me wrong; I can see the merits in this secret stuff. After all, there’s nothing like illusion to keep the fires burning.

But I also know that even after you’ve scoured the internet for that hard-to-find Jill Scott bra that sets the girls nicely while making back fat disappear, you have to take it off. And while I’m all for energy conservation, if you’re living a lie, even at home, then you will end up doing even mundane things in the dark.

What I can get on-board with, though, is keeping those little critters out of your business. Whereas your man ought to know how to keep your secrets to himself (and you will be justified in making him pay if he doesn’t), little people lack tact.

Like the other day when I was getting dressed and needed a little help with the zipper.

Zipper up, I realised I’d made a bad choice, so I asked the boy to unzip me. Instead of just doing me the favour, he started asking 20 questions loaded with judgment.

“It’s too tight, right?” he wanted to know. And besides wondering how that became a question, I responded with a testy, “no, I want to wear something else.” And he was like” because it’s too tight.”

So after rolling my eyes at him, I start struggling to get the dress off and, to his credit, he helped. But as soon as I step out of the dress, I hear him behind me with raucous laughter. And he’s standing there pointing at me, with my spanks exposed.

And between peals of laughter he expressed awe at “the biggest panty” he’s ever seen, and I’m getting mad and defiant – and apparently insane – as I’m explaining to an eight year old that they are not panties, they are spanks. But that doesn’t curtail the fun.

So I use my executive powers and tell him to get out of my room, and he left eventually, but I could hear him in the other room, sharing the joke with his younger brother, who came running to see.

But I couldn’t take on Li’l Bit because, at that point, I realised that I had chipped polish on my toes, and that I was planning to wear open-toed shoes.

I finally got out the house, and thank goodness for short attention spans, because the boys were now bickering with each other. And I live with it, because it’s better than them laughing at me.

But I get to my destination and I look down to see that, in my haste, I forgot to shave my legs.

Beauty regimen that’s a secret? Ha.

Seems to me that there comes a time when that aspect of your life, if you’re blessed to have one, is an open book.