The Vagina Monologue

I know I'm supposed to be posting The Best of ABCM, but I have a funny, yet painful story to tell you. After you laugh your asses off at my expense today, you'll be happy I waited. To my male readers, I apologize in advance for the numerous vagina references that will ensue. Here's a link to something you'd rather occupy your time with. Don't click it if you're at work. Or school. Or church. Or your kids are within fifty feet of your computer. You've been warned.



I hope I don't gross you out too much because this is a story about my recent, failed attempt at hair removal.

I don't like using razors because, as some of you know, the texture of a black person's hair makes shaving an almost painful venture. Add to that the fact that razor bumps look atrocious and I'm sure you see my point. I'm not a big fan of using clippers because you have to do it damn near everyday and it leaves a look that's similar to stubble. Also not attractive. Home waxing kits have a tendency to take off your skin. Ouch. So being gainfully unemployed and therefore unable to indulge in spa hair removal, I was down to my last option: depilatories. Yes, I tried to use Nair for my personal...um... landscaping.

I know you're laughing at my stupidity by now, but in my defense, the bottle said it was "safe for the bikini area." Who knew that crap was going to seep into my lady bits? 

So there I was with Nair carefully placed along the perimeter of my hoo ha, Nair covering both of my hands because boy, can that shit get messy, and suddenly my clitoris was on fire. And not in a good way. It had taken me all of fifteen seconds to apply it and by second number sixteen, I felt like there was something eating through my skin. Turns out, that's exactly what was happening. 

It took fifteen more seconds to get all the gunk off my hands and yet another fifteen to get it off my crotch. All total, the depilatory from hell was on my body for approximately forty-five seconds. In those forty-five painful seconds, it had broken my skin and left me bleeding and raw. I felt like a cat had clawed its way into my pants. And although there are long lines of people waiting to get into my pants, that's just not the way.

It took me and my friend, a Reiki II and a Reiki master respectively, to heal my aching lady parts. Truthfully, I probably could have done it myself, but there are some things with which you take no chances. Vaginas fit in that category. I could barely even walk on Saturday, but by Sunday morning, thanks to Reiki healing and a healthy dose of Percocet leftover from some surgery or another, I was 99% better. Today, I'm at 100 percent.

It's times like this that I'm glad I don't have a job. How the hell do you call your supervisor and explain that you can't come to work because you burned your cooch?

I guess this means I have to go back to shaving. I know everyone is going to come on here and give me advice about the best razors and what not, and that's fine, but I think I've tried them all. Maybe I'll go all rogue hippie and just let it grow into a wild, wiry overgrown garden kinda thing. I do like gardens... 

You can stop laughing at my dumb ass now. It was a momentary, albeit tortuous, lapse in intelligence. Okay, you don't have to stop. That shit is hilarious and even I know it. When I told a few of my friends, they were very sympathetic, but I know they were laughing inside. All except one friend who just laughed outright in my face. Bitch. That's one of the reasons I love her, though because I always know where she stands. Gotta love a bitch who will laugh in your face and not behind your back.

Tomorrow, for sure, I'll feature my best posts from this past year. You won't want to miss the bitching, the name-calling and the judgments that I've passed on people this year. I even called a woman the "c" word once, and I hate that word. 

But that cunt deserved it.