How I Ended Up With Bert In My Pants, or: How Not To Shave A Lady

So. I have taken a new lover. Mum's the word on it, completely, so don't try to pry any information out of me. Okay you guys, I'm so giddy because for the first time EVER I'm having my ivories tickled by a Democrat.

That's all I'm going to give you for now.

Him, however? I'm giving him more. Which means there's a certain amount of tidying up to be done. You know how, when you have friends over, you do crazy things like vacuum and lint off all the dog hair from the couch and spray Febreze on the pile of shoes by the front door?

I'm trying to do the equivalent for my latest inamorato. Because let's be real: mama ain't had company in a while. I might have asked him if he had cobwebs stuck in his hair after our first tryst. Why am I perpetually single, I wonder?

Back in the day, like, waaaay back in the days of eHarmony and free weekends and a waistline, I tended to my nethers like a proper lady. I had the whole thing waxed, from stem to stern (or is it stern to stem? Isn't there something about a little man in a boat, and sharks and tuna? What is it with nautical references and female anatomy? I'm so lost). It was smooth and hairless. Like a newborn gerbil. Sexy, I'm sure.

That was back in the day. Here we are in 2015 and things have changed. I've gone from a pink baby rodent to something much different. Something less innocent. Years have passed, things have happened. I've become lazy in the maintenance area of my...err...area.

But I'm nothing if not a gracious hostess. I don't know how long or how often this lovah will come a calling, but dammit, I want to be nice. Welcoming. More tended garden and less haunted forest.

So I had a thought. This thought occurred to me in the shower, and after two glasses of wine (OMG the kids start school soon and I'm hanging on by my short man-like fingernails, people). I'm in the shower, shaving my legs and I thought, "Hmmm. I wonder if I should try shaving my crotch?" Because isn't that the way it is when you're showering late at night with a little buzz? Hey let's shave stuff!

Several of my friends do it. Two of my very closest friends are huge proponents of the Kojak look. They talk about it as if it's nothing, as if sliding a lethal razor blade over the VERY intricate landscape that is a woman's outer genitalia is like shaving a bowling ball.

Bolstered by the wine and the smell of the shaving cream, and the fresh memory of intimacy that didn't involve batteries and carpal tunnel syndrome, I decided to go for it. How hard can it be?

Sweet Jesus. I should have known better. I should have remembered what it was like changing my daughter's diaper when she was a red wrinkly newborn. I couldn't get over how many folds and crevices and tiny dungeons and hidden passages a miniscule baby vulva/vagina contained. You actually needed a miner's helmet. Or a flashlight. And that was a brand new V, fresh out of the oven. Mine has been on this planet for almost half a century. It's seen a lot of life, literally: four of them were created in there. I am not from the whole "take a hand-held mirror and explore" generation but I'm guessing the nooks and crannies are still plentiful. I might be picturing Prune Face from Dick Tracy. Sorry.

The first swipe of the razor wasn't so bad. But then I met with some resistance. I plowed ahead, pulling things taut and trying to remember if it was "go with" or "go against" the grain. Which way does my grain go, anyway? DO I HAVE A GRAIN?

Things were getting steamy and not in a good way. Panic started setting in. How far back do you go? Was I getting it all or was I leaving some freakshow haphazard pattern in my wine-addled wake?

And then, I cut something. Like a lawnmower gliding blithely over an unseen garden hose, I nicked a nubbin. Was it an essential nubbin? I guess I'll find out, eventually. But regardless, that was the end of my impromptu barbershop experiment. RAZOR DOWN, HANDS UP, SWEENEY TODD!

There was blood. There was sadness. There was almost instantaneous regret. And there was itching.

I didn't finish the job because I was afraid of inflicting permanent damage. I don't know how my friends do this without the aid of mirrors and stirrups. Is there a trick? A secret? Maybe it involves using a razor that isn't a year old. Maybe it requires the use of something other than Neutrogena for Men shaving gel. Maybe it requires sanity.

I don't know. All I know is, I was going for sleek and smooth and velvety, and instead I got Bert from Sesame Street, complete with the unibrow.

I'm sorry, lovah. But if you're a fan of muppets, we may be onto something here.

Itchily yours,

Jenny