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I dart into the closet where I keep my disposable gloves and N95 mask, then take it all to the bathroom, fully aware of how much I look like I’m planning a naughty game of doctor.
There’s a fly in my bathroom.
Gross.
I try to evict him, but the clever beastie sneers at my futile attempts, buzzing around tauntingly.
“Fine,” I tell him. “This place is about to smell like hair removal cream. If you get wing cancer, don’t come crying to me.”
Of course, I didn’t get the cream to ward off insects. I just happen to hate the stubbly feel of my legs after shaving, and I’ve never felt masochistic enough to wax.
Stripping down to the buff, I trim the affected area as much as is possible without garden shears. Next, I prepare a wet washcloth by the tub and put on the mask to avoid fumes.
As soon as I strap on the gloves and squeeze out a handful of cream, I feel an itch on the top of my head.
Then my nose itches under the mask.
Then my eye.
Ignoring it all, I get into the tub and slather the cream on my legs.
I glance at my pubes.
Am I really doing this?
I guess I am. I get more cream and go to town in the vaginal region. That done, I awkwardly place one foot on the edge of the tub and upgrade the experience to a full Brazilian—I saw a butt plug in that suitcase, so this might help.
I then wait for the cream to break down my hair’s protein structure. Bored, I wonder how the Seven Dwarves would’ve reacted if they’d walked in on Snow White doing something like this.
Especially Bashful.
The fly lands on my mask.
“Shoo.” I swat at him.
He buzzes angrily and scurries over to my forehead.
“Get out!” I swat at him once more. “Perv.”
The fly’s buzzing sounds indignant as he zooms through the room and slams into the closed window.
Serves him right.
In the next moment, I forget all about the fly because my most private area begins to burn.
Ouch. It’s really burning—like an STD they punish rapists with in the seventh circle of hell.
I shoot a glance at the clock. It’s not the full five minutes yet, plus my legs are fine.
This must be because I switched brands, and some ingredient in this formulation doesn’t agree with my bikini area. Which is ironic, given that this brand markets itself as being “for sensitive skin.” In defense of the manufacturer, most such creams warn you about using this stuff in the exact area that currently burns. It’s just never been a problem for me before, else I would have done a patch test on a small part of my privates instead of going all in.
Grabbing the warm cloth, I rub myself hard enough to start a fire.
There.
No more cream on my vag.
Now my butt burns, so I take care of that next.
