Taking care of your lady parts is tricky business. Especially when it comes to ridding our weiner-warmer of unwanted hair down there. Each woman I know has an opinion on how they want that area to look, I am a no hair is easiest kind of girl, while others may not enjoy that. I am not here to judge what you want to do with your lady business, whether you are going for the good old seventies porn look or you want to have a heart-shaped box, none of this concerns me. Live and let live.
Either way, I am a landscaper of the pubic region and today shit got real.
There are many ways to get rid of unwanted hair down there, some of which I’ve tried. For example, I’ve endured the hellish Brazilian wax, effective yes. Fun? Not unless you have a sadistic disposition and enjoy having hair pulled harshly from soft baby like skin. Also, I feel I deserve dinner and a drink before someone gets up close and personal to my passion purse.
I’ve also tried Nair, a ghastly smelling cream that dissolves hair direct from the root. My issue with the Nair, if you get that radioactive shit anywhere near the inside of your lady passage, bad situations can happen, mostly burning, we’ll leave it at that.
I’ve heard the rumblings of some women exclaiming laser hair removal for the bikini area is the way to go. I am sure it’s wonderful, but I have two teenagers and we all now how expensive they are, so yeah, I can’t afford that.
So I shave.
That’s right fella’s; and if you think placing a sharp razor near your face is a delicate operation, try getting into a contorted yoga type position on a slippery shower floor and reaching into the folds of lady-ness. It’s not easy. It takes steady hands and some practice. And honestly, up until this very morning, I would have called myself a professional lady-part shaver, maybe even go as far as to call myself an ‘aficionado.’
Not anymore, not after the bloodbath that ensued in my shower this morning. I can no longer call myself the Master of the Hair Down There, and I promise you, I have been known to say it from time to time.
Morning isn’t my favorite part of the day to begin with; I’m not the girl who hops out of bed all spry and jovial. More or less, I drag my ass to the shower with what feels like the weight of two cement shoes on my feet. I don’t think I open my eyes until I feel the first trickle of water patting my sleepy head.
Today was no different, except, it was landscape day.
Now listen up, there are some things you need to know about landscape day, there are tools and you have to use them, or things will go sideways, and quick. First and foremost, you need a razor, not just any plain old razor; it has to be new-ish, and it has to be sharp. Without a sharp razor, you might as well just deal with the razor burn now. Second, you unquestionably need a generous amount of lather, it’s your choice, but I suggest shaving cream for the best results.
With the necessary tools in hand, I began my journey to Master the Hair Down There. As I said earlier, this is an extremely complicated procedure, one that takes patience and balance of a Yoga Master. Unfortunately, my balance resembles a drunk monkey on ice skates. If you combine my disastrous balance, a soapy shower floor and a sharp razor, eventually you will perform a slip of the wrist. At least my clumsy ass will.
It all started when I put my one leg in the air as to get to ALL the places the hair grows, if you know what I mean. Just after getting the razor securely in place, my leg, the only leg that still happened to be on the floor, started to slip out from underneath me. That’s when it occurred, trying to regain my balance I somehow swiped the razor directly across my love button.
Just as you might suspect, that particular body part, when sliced open bleeds much like a throat being slit. Imagine a jugular being sliced open, except not. More so a jugular attached to a profoundly sensitive part of your body, now pumping blood as if it’s your main artery.
As blood started filling the shower floor, I began to panic, just a little. There isn’t much you can do when trying to stop this type of injury from bleeding. I mean, I haven’t come across a band-aid for a lacerated vagina hanging on the shelf at my local drug store.
Stark naked, soaking wet and holding my crotch, because aren’t you supposed to put pressure on an open pulsating wound, I quickly realized, the hand that is now placing pressure on the cut, it’s filled with peach-scented shaving cream. There isn’t a word for the sounds that came from my mouth. Holy Hell that shit burns.
Ever had a baby? Remember the ring of fire? Yep, just like that. If you haven’t had a baby, I’m certain you can imagine the intense stinging sensation I was experiencing, which goes hand in hand with pouring salt into an open wound. My only thought at this point was to get all the shaving cream off, all of it!
Enter thirteen-year-old daughter.
As she saunters into the bathroom, her face squished, expressing what I assume is discomfort and probable disbelief.
“MOM! What are you doing! You woke me up with your screaming.”
I see her peering out the corner of her eye, striving to look away. I have no words for her at that moment, just sheer euphoric relief as she notices my ass on the shower floor, and my legs in the birthing position. The water streaming from the shower now washing away my pain. I’m certain I may have traumatized my daughter for life, I will clearly have to explain this situation to her when she arrives home from school.
To all my ladies who shave the bikini area, be careful out there. It has been over four hours since the slashing incident and this girl’s baby maker, still doesn’t feel so good. Although the bleeding has finally stopped, any slight move in the wrong direction causes extreme discomfort. Also peeing, I am just not doing that.
By the way, I was correct, there is not a band-aid on this planet that works in that vicinity.