Vaginas and chilli and Vicks and Silky Mits don’t mix
THERE are some things you really shouldn’t mix with your lady parts. Warning: Fellas, you might not want to read this.
WARNING: Fellas, you might not want to read this.
EVERY once in a while a Facebook status comes along that stops me in my tracks, or in this case almost causes a volcanic spewtacular explosion from my mouth, such is the quality of it’s humour.
This Halley’s comet of updates happened across my way on Saturday night, and it involved a serious ‘vaginjury’. In case you can’t tell from the excellent fusion word a vaginjury is an injury to ones lady parts. A skin wallet mishap, a bearded clam calamity, a pink canoe conundrum. I could go on but for your sake I won’t.
This woman has managed to stay anonymous, although I would dearly like to meet her. You’ll understand why once you’ve read what happened to her. Let’s just say chilli, Vicks and hairy badgers don’t mix.
Go now and read the brilliance here, I’ll wait.
Have you recovered?! I honestly nearly threw up from laughing so hard, by the time the “condom icy pole” incident happened I had to have a lay down in a dark corner of the house with a cool face washer on my brow.
Spurred on by this woman’s bravery I would also like to admit to having done myself a serious vaginjury in my youth.
Being an Italian girl with pale skin my pubic hair situation was fairly out of control by the time I was 12. I had a fine pair of koala ears that you could brush, that hung out either side of my undies and a snail trail you could plait, that joined up to the aforementioned koala ears.
My nether regions kind of resembled Craig David’s facial hair only with less organised lines shaved in with military precision and more BUSH.
The catalyst to my vaginjury was the fact that our school swimming sports were fast approaching and it was to be my first one at my new high school. I could no longer tuck the errant hair inside my Speedos without it popping out if I made any sudden movements.
I was only 13 at the time but I knew that I didn’t want a razor near my bits and the thought of hot wax made me want to pass out, so I really had no idea what I was going to do.
It was on a trip to Priceline with my mother that I saw what I thought was my miracle. My saving grace, my pathway to smooth, hairless skin. It was called a Silky Mit and the instructions on the packaging promised to remove hair with just a few gentle strokes. I could do that!
I cannot begin to express my relief to you all, I truly believed that I had finally found an answer that didn’t involved sharp edges or boiling hot liquid near my sensitive region.
I decided very early on that ‘gentle strokes’ probably wasn’t going to cut it as I had the coverage of a small brown bear. I thought it best if I go in with a more heavy handed technique — I upped the anti on the gentle strokes and went more with an aggressive stabbing motion. As promised the hair began falling off but, unfortunately, so was something else: my skin.
Do you think that stopped me? Don’t be stupid, in my mind if I didn’t have skin, I wouldn’t have hair! After a good five minutes of buffing and sanding my private parts the burning sensation became too much, I was crying with each stroke, it was red raw down there and I knew something was terribly wrong.
I had no idea what to do, the heat emanating from my crotch could have fired a steam train. I tried an ice pack however the skin was too damaged to be able to tolerate the ice. I couldn’t put my undies back on as the fabric stuck to the skin setting off a fresh wave of excruciating pain. I tried straddling a fan at high speed but even the gentlest of breezes was causing me great discomfort. Things were becoming desperate and, finally, after two hours of self medicating and faffing about I was forced to admit to my mother what I had done and a trip to the emergency room was required.
CAN YOU EVEN IMAGINE being 13 years old and having to go to the hospital because you gave yourself second degree burns on your vagina with something called a Silky Mit?!
No, no you cannot possibly imagine my level of mortification.
Only the burned badger understands my pain, I hope to one day meet her and share a wine, and talk old bearded axe wound stories.
Sorry, last one I promise!
No, the hair never really grew back properly so I suppose that is a small victory of sorts and yes, waaaaaay too much information.
Em Rusciano is a comedian, writer, singer and regular news.com.au columnist. You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram.