My vagina is many things. It’s vulgar, loud, aggressive, blunt, bold, hyperactive, obsessive-compulsive, neurotic, occasionally clingy and up until recently it was bald as a baby. There are a couple reasons for this recent departure from the hair-free zone. The first is that I’m in a long distance relationship and aside from blurry webcam shots no one is viewing my cooch except for me. So that leads me to the second reason, which is that I’m hella lazy. My logic is, if there are no visitors to my botanical garden, do I really need to prune it? And you can label me a man-pleasing, natural-body-hair-betrayer if you want, but the truth is I just prefer being shaved. I’ve made peace with that. The fact that my man also enjoys it smooth is just an added bonus for both of us.
I decided long ago that I would no longer subscribe to the mentality that my body should be molded to suit my sexual partners tastes. It’s my god damn body and I’m the one that’s got to live with ALL OF THIS 24/7 so if I want it shaved, well that’s the way the cookie crumbles. I explored this issue earlier this year because at a point during the relationship when we both lived in the same time zone, I decided to conduct a little experiment and grow back my ginger nether locks. I wanted to see if the shave-at-all-costs programming that I had absorbed as a teenager as a result of exposure to porn and the influence of teenage boy people-pleasing was worth hanging onto now that I no longer shave for those reasons.
So I took some time and let it thrive, like my own little intimate Chia pet. And unfortunately, like a lot of other people’s pets that I encounter, it became a damn nuisance. It was nice to look at, but fuck did it ever get itchy. To the point of distraction. I just couldn’t hold out for the itchy period to end (I’m an impatient motherfucker) so I chopped it off again and decided that’s that, case closed. But then my boyfriend and I became temporarily geographically divided, which coincided with an early fall chill (taking my bare legs off the market) which always leads to an inevitable “fuck shaving” attitude.
Now I’ve entered this unfortunate cycle where I get too lazy to shave and the stuff grows back like demon dandelions on a pesticide-free lawn and I’m forced to clear cut the forest, but then I just don’t give a fuck about shaving again… (you see where this is going). The worst part is I get incredibly frustrated all the time because I’m constantly tempted to scratch my pubes in completely inappropriate places, like at work, on the subway and occasionally in grocery stores (right next to the creamed corn). I know that guys get away with that shit on the regular but I do have hygiene standards for myself and the strangers I come into contact with, so I try my best to refrain from indulging in public itching. It’s infuriating, because on one hand I love to admire my glorious fire crotch for purely aesthetic reasons (we’re going extinct, dont’cha know?) and on the other hand it’s the most irritating thing in the world to be unable to soothe the itch that comes with it. It feels like being a miserable kid with chicken pox all over again.
So it seems that I can’t have my fuzzy ginger cake and eat it too. I’m doomed to repeat this vicious cycle until I can get over my laziness or get over the irritating itch. And I think I know which one will win out. Looks like its time to stock up on razors.