You guys, I’m 26 (almost 27). Not to brag, but I’m naked. A lot. While most of my friends are perpetually running late for plans because of various laser, waxing, threading, sugaring, sand-papering, tweezing, sewing, knitting, and other painful sounding hair removal appointments, I’m still right here in the early 2000s, sprawled out on the bathtub floor like a synchronized swimmer, doing back bends and bleeding and trying to figure out how to de-shrub that hard-to-reach area behind my knees. I find myself wondering, am I the only person who still uses cheap drug store razors that come in a pretty pink six-pack? Am I the only person still suffering from razor burn? Is razor burn still a thing, or is it out like dandruff? Am I the only person who has never had my butt hairs yanked out from the root by an old, callus-palmed Russian lady named Anastasia who scoffs at me to “Flip over”?
I swear to you, never once in my life have a felt the bliss of a smooth kneecap. Even after a same-day shave I find myself tugging on my hemline in a not-so-discrete attempt to cover up some atrocious patch of hair that somehow escaped a perilous death by my dirty razor blade. There is regularly a 3/4 inch extra coarse hair that sprouts from the general vicinity of my armpit/side-boob, and I’m also pretty close to being able to trim a bear silhouette into my hedge, much like Edward Scissorhands.
Now, admittedly, it doesn’t help that sometimes I shave in the dark because I like to romance myself by showering with the lights off, and that I often use my boyfriend’s old razors which are not regularly replenished, and that I never ever use shaving cream because soap is just fine. Admittedly, sometimes shaving for me is more like waving a sharp object down near my nether regions and seeing what it catches; kind of like a weed-wacker.
The weird thing is, I have no feminist or moral objection to waxing, or whatever is it that the sexually active ladies are doing to beautify their bits these days. Money isn’t an issue, I spend it on overpriced drinks and printed capri pants from J.Crew and other things that I probably misplace within a few days anyways. I have a high tolerance for pain; I like tattoos and spanking and other activities that the less Darwinian might shy away from. So, I really have no excuse for being an unkempt cousin Itt of a thing.
I guess, in truth, I’m just lazy. Hair removal is not my priority. So, my lovely ladies who know how to do the lady thing far better than I, I’m asking you now for assistance: What is your simplest hair removal routine so that my boyfriend will stop tugging at my butt hairs and telling me “It’s endearing.”