Thursday, September 15, 2011

Hmm, I love writing scandalous blog posts.

I saw The Vagina Monologues for the first time this past February, and almost every performance resonated with me on a deep and self-loving level. All but one monologue, in fact. And that monologue was about something that is regarded as a rather hush-hush topic (well, okay, they ALL are; that's the point)--this particular monologue was on vaginas and hair. Basically, the woman telling this story had never shaved her snatch until her husband begged and pleaded, and when she gave in she thought it looked weird and unnatural and having sex suddenly became painful and the take away message is that "You can't love vaginas unless you love hair!" or something to that effect. 

And I was sitting there like
uhhhhhhh...Excuse me!?
Because, as you all know, I love hair. And it's probably unsurprising that I like to show my nani a lot of love. I very specific about the way in which these two things are allowed to meet. Sure, sometimes I get lazy and embrace the natural look all over, but I have to whip that shit into shape on the regular. And by whip, I mean shave. 
And I would now like to make the counterargument that shaving is just another way to show your ladyflower some love. First off, there is no other activity in which I spend so much time/attention on its external features, getting to re-know the surface and all its intricacies where stray hairs might be hiding. When I'm done, all that's left is a narrow-ish strip in the middle and I love the way it looks, bold and demanding your attention, reminding you/me that I'm a grown-ass woman while the rest of it feels so smooth and new. Like a snake shedding its skin, shaving unearths a hidden beauty, a newness I just can't keep my hands off of. Another thing The Vagina Monologues taught me to do is to really see myself (with the help of a small mirror), and I love the way it looks with no obstructions. Then, all day long, while the delta of my body gets re-acquainted with its bare self and I walk around feeling skin touching skin, I get more and more turned on. That first night is perfection, mostly because I've been thinking about it all day. I agree with the woman from the monologue about one thing, that it sucks when it grows back, but hey...then I just get to enjoy this again. 
And let's consider the alternatives. Using any kind of hair removal lotion on my sensitive bits sounds like it's just asking for an infection. Ew. I could get it waxed, but having some stranger's hands all up and through my business and then providing no pleasure, only pain like I've never felt in my life? Uh, no. Not going to happen. The getting covered in warm sticky goo part sounds enjoyable, but I've heard people tell me they sobbed during their first Brazilian. No thank you. Pretending I'm fabulously wealthy for a moment, I could get laser hair removal surgery, but I feel like I would stop appreciating the blissfully nude feeling pretty fast. Like, if you live somewhere where it never rains, do you love the sunshine as much as someone who goes through a long hard winter? 

Long story short, I don't see nothing wrongggggg with a little trim and shaveeee...   

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