“As my due date edges closer, I have thought about removing my own body hair so I don’t get shaved down by a nurse in the act of a cesarean and die of embarrassment because she needs a whipper snipper to cut through the Sherwood Forest.
Now, I am not some Italian/Argentinian who was blessed with good genes, and tanned skin… no, I was born as white as a q-tip with dark, thick hair like Bigfoot. Motherfreakin’ Bigfoot Gus.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about getting waxed, but I don’t want to deal with the pain. So, someone suggested hair removal cream.
A cream that effortlessly removes body hair without pain and effort, an alternative to shaving. Lasts a bit longer apparently.
I have sensitive skin, psoriasis, asparagus veins – you name it. Pregnancy has brought all of this stuff out tenfold. So, I very wisely did a spot test on my arm by applying this rose-smelling/burning sweat cream and waited the 5 minutes, wiped it off with a sponge and OH MY LORD, the hair was gone.
Tiny black spider hair-looking things all over the sponge and I was smooth as a baby’s butt. No pain, but a lot of gain.
I have no time for rules, so I slathered this stuff all over my body. A little bit under the arms, a bit on my legs, some on my chin, a little bit on the bikini line – okay, a lot on the bikini line.
I was ready to come out looking like Mr. Bigglesworth. The packet said it was fine for the bikini line, just avoid the anus… which is fine, no one will be examining the chocolate starfish. We are good.
I jumped in the shower and start putting a face mask on, and some of the water splashes onto me… no biggie… however, it was unbeknownst to me that this water would create a river to my lower lady bits that would pave the way to THE HIGHWAY OF HELL.
The cream obviously went where it shouldn’t have, and my skin decided despite the patch test it was going to reign Satan’s fury all over my body and I began to burn… like FREAKIN’ BURN. It felt like someone had basted me with bleach and LAVA was erupting into my baby maker oven.
Naturally, I start to scream like a hyena and furiously try to wash it off. But it only really comes off with this rubber sponge, you see (which I forgot), and I don’t have a detachable shower head, so I’m trying to yoga my way to get this stuff off that stung my lady’s petticoat so bad I felt like I’d been attacked by a thousand wasps.
Of course, my husband thinks I’m in labor and comes rushing in with some tongs (wanting to catch the baby? No, they were for something else… I’m still unsure). ‘Are you in labor?’ he asks, holding the tongs.
‘No! Omg, I’m having a reaction to the cream!!’ He looks at my face and sees the half-hardened face mask and thinks I put the cream on my face, so he helpfully grabs a towel and starts rubbing my face while I’m trying to push him away. ‘That’s a face mask!’ I screamed as he rubbed harder.
I’m trying to explain while yelping and scrubbing my dinner roll, which felt like it was filled with jalapeños, to rid it of this devil’s cream.
Meanwhile, my kids come in and think it’s hilarious to see Mommy replicate ‘Simon Says’ really fast – going from my knees and toes – while dad is trying to splash me with a bucket of water to make things faster.
I eventually got it all off and I’m left with red patches everywhere on my body in a bad reaction to my sensitive skin which is chemically burnt. It’s my fault – I failed to read the instructions that CLEARLY say don’t use if you have aforementioned skin ailments.
But you know what folks? It removed all the hair… so now I’m an angry hairless chihuahua. I look like a hairless cat who has measles. A mutant ladybug. But I guess the universe wanted me to experience the Ring of Fire after all.
Caution: Keep away from children, and ladies who should just stick to their natural state of hairiness.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Laura Mazza. You can follow Laura’s journey on Facebook and Instagram. Join the Love What Matters family and subscribe to our newsletter.
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