Like A Jungle

I’ll admit, up until more recent times, I didn’t worry so much about the downstairs maintenance. Maybe it’s because I grew up in a relatively hippie city, in a relatively hippie state, but I always felt like my pubes weren’t really anybody’s business but my own. That being said, I wasn’t going to make anyone go extreme trekking to get to the goodies, but I was always a little creeped out by the idea of intense hair removal. Then I got to college.

College meant shared bathrooms, with showers that could barely fit one upright person in them, to say nothing of one bent-over or leg-lifted person attempting to shave. And I’ve always been a little nervous around razors. Let’s be honest, a razor is a little plastic house for little sharp knives, and little sharp knives have potential to do a lot of damage in sensitive areas! I’m not even going to lie, but accidentally shearing off a lip is a legitimate fear of mine. Add that fear to the shower contortion efforts, and I basically dreaded even the minimal amount of maintenance that I was willing to put forth into pruning the hedges, so to speak. I dreaded summer with every fiber of my being, because summer meant swimsuits, which meant shower trikonasana just to keep things G-rated.

So really, it was desperation that drove me towards the apparent dyke norm of serious “hedge pruning”, euphemistically speaking. I contemplated all of my options, which amounted to hair removal cream, electrolysis, or waxing. I don’t like the idea of chemicals eating my hair and skin, and electrolysis just seemed like a lot of effort for not much reward, so waxing won out. And against my better judgement, I figured I’d go with the Brazilian. After all, go big or go home, right? If I was going to get this done, I was going to get it done right, dammit!

Being a college student, cash is not exactly something I’m rolling in, and Brazilians are expensive! So I decided to go to a teaching salon, because it was only $35, vs $65 anywhere else.

And before you ask, yes, it was not my brightest idea.

I took an ibuprofen before hand, and I was totally pumped. I planned it perfectly so it would even be a surprise for my girlfriend and everything, but I didn’t think about what exactly having it done at a teaching salon would mean. Basically, I got to lay there with my spa smock up around my waist with both teacher and student checking me out. I’m no prude, but there’s something a little awkward about being spread-eagled for someone who is neither my doctor nor my partner. I laid there only half-listening to them discuss the growth pattern of my pubes (there’s a pattern?! embarrassing.), what kind of wax to use (there’s different kinds?!), and whether they should trim before applying the wax (hey now, the ever-omniscient internet said I should grow it out. so I grew it out, okay?!). After the student failed a couple times at ripping the wax + paper off (yeeooouuuuuchhhh!), I firmly made up my mind that an additional $30 was an okay price to pay to have my ladybits only be subject to a single, experienced aesthetician.`

But it was okay! It didn’t hurt as badly as I’d been led to believe. I mean, it wasn’t a walk in the park, but I was fine to take an actual walk in the actual park right after. And I think I’m already hooked! It’s so smooth and soft that I just keep wanting to pet it…but I’ll leave that job for the girlfriend 😉

So to answer those questions…yes, it’s kind of awkward. More so if you go to a teaching salon. Yes, it kind of hurts. But it lasts a lot longer than shaving, and it feels way nicer – no more 5-o-clock shadow for your downstairs parts! Of course, if you want to grow that sh*t like a jungle, as recommended by Amanda Palmer, be my guest – I firmly believe in doing whatever makes you happy. However, it was totally worth it for me. This queer is officially summer ready 🙂