So it’s The Day Before Surgery, and I can no longer put off the dread moment: Clearing the undergrowth. Defoliation. Stripping the Willow. Baring Betty. Unmasking Possible. (Possible? Yep, a friend’s mother said: you wash up as high as possible, then down as far as possible – and then you wash possible. )
It’s time for The Shave.
Now, I’m proud of my thatch. Grown women have pubic hair, ok? None of this little girl p0rn0graphic bareness, oh no – mine is a lush, sproingy and multicoloured forest. (Although I will confess to feeling very ooooold the first time I found an albino kangaroo in the lower forty. Grey? You’ve got to be kidding me! GREY?!? I have GREY pubes?! You get GREY pubes? Oh maaaaaaaaan, yet another Thing Nobody Told Me About Ageing™!
I got over it. Apparently, some women don’t – I recently read a review of Betty Beauty “Color for Down There”. Now, I can see wanting to have a bit of fun, and perhaps having Hot Pink Pubes would be a giggle – but I’m just not that worried about whether the collar and cufffs match, you know? I mean, exactly HOW MANY people do you expect to show that the drapes don’t match the carpet?
ANYWAY: given the luxuriant nature of the growth, we started off by finding and charging the electric clippers. But the buzzing blades made me tense, and bending gave Mr Beloved a backache.
“This isn’t doing anything, the hair’s too fine.” He says. (I confess to be being momentarily thrilled that my thatch is delicate – because plainly, the rest of me is NOT. I am now and forever will be a Sturdy Girl, no matter how much weight I lose. So hey, I’ll take my victories where I can get ’em.)
I was planning on waxing – but that was before I realised the logistics of having to hold belly out of the way with one hand (gently, cos it freakin’ HURTS, duh, that’s why I’m having surgery in the first place) and smoothing the wax strip “In the direction of hair growth”. I don’t know about you, but my bush doesn’t grow in nice straight lines – there IS no direction of hair growth. And anyway I couldn’t see if there was, since we’re working blind here. I haven’t been able to see my TOES for some months, let alone anything else south of my belly-button.
And waxing HURTS. A lot.
So I resorted to shaving. Which keeps the Olympic level contortionist act, but adds a further degree of difficulty by adding running water and shaving foam.
Twenty minutes later, two fresh razor cartridges, innumerable squirts of shaving foam later… I’ve shaved up, down, around, sidewards, frontwards, backwards, and I can still feel stubble. Back again with another new razor blade, one last sweep…
The water heater has run out of hot water, I’m declaring the job DONE. If it’s not good enough it’s just not. And in any case, I strongly suspect that whatever I did wouldn’t be good enough and some over-zealous nurse will want to shave poor possible AGAIN before surgery.
And it’s itching ALREADY.
( Mr Beloved did offer to print up a flash card that reads “Why, Yes, I DO have crabs” to excuse the scratching.
EDITED TO ADD: OMG, this is just sick. Link from Skepchick to a New York Post story on Moms taking their little girls to be waxed – when they don’t even have anything to WAX?! Ye gods and little fishes, where will it end??
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