Hold on to your seats.. I’m about to talk about my vajayjay: Part II
As we all know, (or maybe you don’t, but you will soon enough) I will take any opportunity I am afforded to talk about my vagina. After realizing that men read this blog too, I have tried to show some restraint, but I can only hold out for so long.
So since my first waxing experience, chronicled on this blog, I have become a dedicated waxee, trudging each month through the doors of the tiny Hollywood salon where Kim Kim works and unabashedly dropping my pants in her back room.
However, this past Memorial Day, I made the impulsive mistake of breaking that routine. Lonely and too exhausted to muster the energy to engage in any of the plans extended to me, I laid in bed in my pajamas surfing the internet. I noticed my ex on Gchat and decided to say hello. I said that I was sad that we had gotten into our last fight and had decided to accept that we were never going to be able to be friends. After weeks of silence between us, I didn’t expect a response and went back to creeping around on Facebook. A few seconds later, I got a ping and a notice alerted me that he had responded.
He told me that that wasn’t what he wanted at all. That as long as I promised to act sane, he really wanted me in his life. After a bit of chit chatting, admitting it was “the dog in him that wanted to know,” he inquired about my love life. I confessed it was non-existent and returned the question. He concurred.
Within, five more minutes of chatting he had told me to put on the sexiest thing I owned, had logged off and was headed to my house. I pulled out the only push-up bra I own, a lacy, hot pink contraption I had purchased for an interview for a cocktail waitressing position, and some black velvet heels. I hurriedly hopped in the shower to do some last minute grooming. Looking down, I realized it had been nearly a month since my last visit to Kim Kim. I looked at the razor hanging from my shower caddy and cringed. I exhaled sharply and went to work.
Fifteen minutes later, he showed up and as I melted into his arms and he carried me into my bedroom, I felt like everything between us was right again. Afterward, we laid on my twin size bed head to foot and talked about my impending trip to India, his business ventures, books, music, you name it. I felt like a high school girl who had just found her soul mate.
But as soon as he left, my heart sank again. As he went off to meet up with his roommates to barbecue, not bothering to invite me along, I felt the black hole of loneliness creep back over me. The next day, the feeling was even worse. To top it off, spiky stubble had appeared along my bikini line.
A week later, my resentment at being constantly kept a secret overcame me and we got in yet another fight. Frustrated, I lamented to friends that I should have seen this coming as I’d been smacked in the face with this lesson on more than one (or two or three) occasions already. And my poor vajayjay? It paid the price for my impulsive decision making, too. Riddled with razor burn and ingrown hairs from my spontaneous shaving episode, for the past two weeks it has been a painful reminder of why sometimes the things that make us feel good in the moment, end up making us feel the shittiest in the long run.
