This year we’re really trying to cut costs. Since I’ve transitioned to writing full time I’m always looking for ways to save a buck. The other week we decided to visit our new dollar store and load up on some essential items where cost cutting is allowed. We were strolling the aisles, looking for some awesome, cheap finds and wound up in the toiletry section. And thus begins the story of how I learned not to use dollar store razors near my lady bits.
How I Learned Not To Use Dollar Store Razors Near My Lady Bits…
But back to the toiletry section.
That’s where I saw them.
Seven blade razors.
For a dollar.
Holy cheese whiz.
THAT IS AMAZING!
I bought three packages.
There are some things, like my hair and my contact solution, where I don’t skimp on brands. Experience has taught me, just don’t do it. But razors? Pft. The last word I’d use to describe my skin is sensitive.
Fast forward a few days later. It’s time to shave. Now, TMI, but I shave pretty much everything from my eyelashes down. If it’s hair on my body, I don’t want it there. If I miss a day of shaving, I look like a yeti. Yes, humans have hair and it’s natural, at least until you’re sprouting a deciduous forest on your legs.
I went about my business. I shaved. Slathered on my post-shave coconut oil, and that was it. Got dressed and settled in to write for the day.
Some time around mid-afternoon I finally moved. You see, when I get into the writing groove I can sit in one spot for hours, my eyes closed, fingers flying on the keys. Once these sprints are over, moving is a must. But this time… I was a lot more sore than I should have been… Between my legs…
I figure, it’s the underwear. I’ve been wondering for a while if I shouldn’t toss a couple of my older pairs. I’m the worst offender about not buying new panties and wearing the ones I have until they’re falling apart. I’m That Person.
No big, right?
The rest of the day I’m rather uncomfortable, so I swap out my underwear, put a little more coconut oil on and figure I’ll be fine by the next day.
Let me pause here and warn you, there’s an anatomy lesson coming up. You are forewarned.
The next day I get up and moving is OMG painful.
There is fire between my thighs, and not in a hot and bothered kind of way.
This is where I waddle my way to the bathroom, find a mirror and brace myself for investigating just what the heck is going on in my netherland. I mean, I have to be dying. There’s some sort of man eating bacteria that’s clearly killing me. I want to die. This is agony.
I take a looksie, and wowmygod I’ve never see my junk so…red and swollen.
Let me be specific here, the labia majora was the area of real concern. It was puffy, red, and…much to my horror, I pulled off a sheet of skin.
Some of you are probably wondering what the heck the majora part of the labia is, so lemme learn a quick anatomy lesson. The vagina is the entry and exit point of life. This is protected by the labia minora, which is what is often referred to as the labia. The labia majora is the secondary outer rim of skin that folds over the whole package when we’re sitting or standing, and is the hard, outer shell of our lady taco.
And mine was pealing. For two whole days.
Cue the I’m going to die panic.
At first I didn’t make a connection to the razor. I cried. I washed all my clothes. I wore a dress with no panties, which was totally horrifying to my inner prude, and about twenty-four hours later, when I was getting ready to take another bath… I remembered… those new razors…
So, moral of the story? Sometimes you need to not buy the knock off brand.
Also? Seven blades may be a few too many for your lady bits…