For the record I do not believe that over sharing exists. I love details, and it matters not if they are gross, sad, funny, embarrassing or any other adjective, the more details the happier I am. This is why I am going to tell you a story about my vulva. See, there was a time when I treated my body with kindness. I shaved my legs every day, and shaved them all the way to the top. Not the “to the knees if I’m in a good mood” shave that I do now. I had my hair colored on a semi regular basis. I rubbed my skin with sweet thick peach lotion, and I bathed in sesame oil. Most importantly my pubic hair was trimmed and maintained at all times. That is until I had to have a cyst removed.
The cyst was not a big deal and required just a little procedure at the doctor’s office. The healing, however, took about a month and in that time my “garden” became a little overgrown. While walking the aisles at Wal-Mart I decided that this would be an excellent time to try a little at home waxing. So I placed my supplies in the buggy and be-bopped my way to the check-out line. I was proud of myself, this was a genius idea, I would not need to garden for some time. I was patting myself on the back the entire drive home. After I fed the kids some dinner I closed my bedroom door and got down to business.
Something you may need to know about me is I do not follow instructions well, at all. You can look at my report cards and see year after year of teacher remarks. “Heather has a difficult time concentrating.” “Heather does not apply herself.” “Heather does not follow directions.” While, I see myself as more of a free spirit my teachers may have seen me as an idiot. If they read this blog post they will know they were right. I dumped the wax and the applicator onto the bed and was soon liberally applying the wax to my nether region. Pleased with the full coverage I grabbed one of the strips and applied it to my nether region. I vigorously rubbed the strip to warm the wax and started to pull. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, I cannot express to you the pain. It was like the world’s largest band aid being ripped from the world’s largest knee. I stopped and took a deep breathe. I tried again. I could not do it; I did not have the inner strength to just rip the strip off. This was a two person job and I was beginning to panic. By the time I removed the strip only one hair was gone. One hair! Not two or three, but one sad lonely little hair. To fully grasp what I had done to myself I want you to grab a child’s Barbie doll take it outside and then catch its head on fire. The matted burnt hair will basically resemble my vulva on that fateful night. I quickly grabbed the directions and looked for an emergency exit. There was no emergency exit, but there was a vile of tee tree oil that said “for excess wax removal.” To remove the amount of wax I had applied I would need a forest of tea trees. I opened the vile and silently prayed that this oil was blessed like the oil in the Hanukkah story. I stood up to walk to the bathroom and I quickly realized that I had glued my vulva to my left inner thigh. This left me with a slight gait that was reminiscent of John Wayne after he had been out on his horse for an extended period of time. This was my hell and when in hell you should always start making phone calls.
“Trey, I have glued my vagina to my leg.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“Mom, I have glued my vagina to my leg.”
“Why would I have any idea on how to help this?”
“Amy, I have glued my vagina to my leg.”
Uncontrollable giggling followed by, “Can I tell Terry?”
“Angela, I have glued my vagina to my leg.”
“What I think you need to do…”
Finally, someone had a plan. By this time I had already made my way to the bathroom to soak in a hot bath, and Angela agreed that this was a good plan. I leaned the phone against my right shoulder and casually talked about what was happening on Dateline. I attempted to shave the waxy mess off and finally felt a pop. I was free from myself. A pack of razors, a hell of a rash, and two hours later I was free. I dried myself off and walked back to my bedroom gabbing with Angela for a little longer. As we said our goodbyes I realized that I had glued myself to the cordless phone. The next day I raced into work, with some chafing, and announced, “No one work wait until you hear what I did last night!” I really wish there was a moral to this story, but if there was I guess it would be that some jobs require two people and never be afraid to ask for help.