I’m one of those people that brush the hell out of their teeth and floss for the first time in weeks right before a dentist appointment. I admit, I’m not a regular flosser but I’d like the dentist to think so. I don’t know who I think I’m fooling, but it makes me feel better. Similarly, I like to shower as close before a doctor appointment as possible and if it’s a visit with the OB-GYN I shave like a Playboy model before her centerfold shoot… if you know what I’m saying. And I think you do.
I mentioned I had a doctor appointment on Monday, so Sunday night found me in the shower, contorting myself like a gymnast, in an effort to shave. This is no easy task when you’re pushing 180 and can’t see your feet for all your stomach, let alone your Lady Bits. My shower in my master bedroom is strictly a shower, no tub. I do have a tub elsewhere but because I don’t usually use the tub, it didn’t occur to me to avail myself of its lovely, sitting down feature.
At one point in the shower, I had one leg up and was precariously balancing on the other, when I knocked down a shower shelf with some other unwieldy body part. I’m sure it sounded like Sisyphus himself dropped the stone and let it roll back down the mountain. Serge came running.
“Everything okay in there?”
“Uh. Yeah.” I grunted and briefly considered asking him to shave my Business, because have you ever tried shaving your Business when you can’t see it? But I couldn’t do that to him. The mental image of him holding up my stomach with one hand and shaving my Lady Bits with the other doesn’t strike me as very sexual. And, my God, he already has to watch my vagina stretch around the head of another human being, so I figured I’d leave the poor man be.
Finally I plopped myself on the floor of the shower and blindly swiped the razor around the very most sensitive parts of my Business. Like, the parts staring the doctor in the face when you’re in the stirrups.
Big mistake. Huge.
That night, in addition to The Cramp I told you about, I suffered from the worst case of razor burn ever. There is a song I remember from one of the Rocky movies. You know, one of those inspiring Rocky-montage training scenes where he’s jogging or punching frozen animal carcasses — or maybe it was at the end of the movie, I can’t really remember. The song goes: “Hearts on fire, strong desire, rages deep within.” That damn lyric was on repeat in my brain, except I kept thinking PARTS ON FIRE, STRONG DESIRE, RAGES DEEP WITHIN. Raging deep within all right. Deep within my Lady Parts.
I shoved a pillow between my legs and tried to get some air down there in an attempt to cool things down. When that proved fruitless, another idea struck me. I stumbled blearily into Violet’s room and grabbed the Butt Paste. The stuff is amazing. I use it on Violet and it clears up any rash in hours.
I slathered it all over the place and tried to get some sleep.
It helped. A little. Before leaving for the doctor I checked myself in the mirror to get a gander at what the doctor would be seeing. Oh, he’d be seeing PARTS ON FIRE all right. The whole of my Business was flaming red, and without the benefit of seeing what I was doing, you can imagine the actual shaving job I’d done. I mean, I know he’s used to looking at mangled post-baby vagina, but this? This was ridiculous.
What could I do? Nothing. The answer is nothing. And it ain’t like my doctor is a distinguished, older gentleman. He’s my husband’s age and cute. Doctors aren’t supposed to be cute. It throws everything out of whack. When talking to cute guys, you can’t help but behave in a certain way — it’s like the law of nature or something. So there you are chit-chatting about the weather and how you’re feeling and then BAM! He’s looking at your mangled Business and the hairy mole on the side of your boob.
Unsettling, to say the least. Couldn’t he at least buy me dinner first?
Turns out I was a month ahead of myself appointment-wise, and he didn’t even need to see my Business. I thought Business Inspection coincided with the beginning of the third trimester but that starts next month. That’s good, because knowing me I would have felt forced to apologize for the state of my vagina, embarrassing both the doctor, my husband and my sad, fiery Lady Parts.
Listen, don’t try and shave your Business in the third trimester. I’ve been walking funny all week. Thank God everyone seems to chalk it up to the pregnancy waddle.