Forging ahead with 2019 and my first really proper weekend post of the year. We’ve not had a totally TMI post for a while I realise. So Fuck It, in the spirit of starting over and complete honesty, today is about the last mistake of and the lasting legacy so far of 2018. Luckily they are one and the same.
I suppose the worst thing about this tale is that I can’t even blame alcohol or evil external influences for today’s insight into how my head works. So it’s, most assuredly, just a post about an entire disaster of my own making. Which simply started with a casual “I wonder” on New Year’s Eve.
Smarter people obviously must wonder about smarter things but at slightly over a year Post Op and having been pretty scared to touch it, I sort of wondered if I should maybe do something about my lady garden before celebrating the bells. Really allowing myself to buy into the whole New Year, New Me thing as it were. So I stopped wondering and off we went. I considered it a perfectly rational idea at the time.
New Year, New Meow
What it was, however, was utter fucking folly! Not sure exactly how I thought it was going to go. But a glamorous expedition it was not. It’s a damningly difficult thing to navigate with a razor. Like the shifting sands of the Sahara. Only considerably fleshier and resonating with clear and present danger.
It’s also one of these things that you need to see through to the end once you’re underway. No half measures. Originally, my worst case scenario had been ending up with something resembling a plucked pheasant, but unfortunately the result was infinitely worse. More like a patchy pigeon which had barely survived a brutal altercation with a feral cat. A lesson learned as they say. Turns out there is a reason for discreet professional services for ladies. And this should really all be covered in the manual. As if they fucking hand you one.
Bit late for tearful regrets now though. So trying to stay positive about it. Came into 2019 feeling like a freshly minted woman. Obviously learned something I didn’t but possibly should have known. Once bitten, twice shy etc. And now I’m cautiously confident that, if I can survive the slow stubbly recovery ahead, I have 2019 beat already. In other news, there’s a sackful of disposable razors I’m not ever going to need again. Help yourself 😉