**Disclaimer; not for the esily offended**
If you've ever attempted the "landing strip" when it's been months since you've seen the "runway", you know where this is going. I am what you might call, a Yeti Betty (intended to be said in the fashion of Austin Powers...yeah baby). I might even go so far as to call myself a Sascrotch. I have yet to meet a razor that didn't run away in horror upon seeing the task set before it. I am the reason plumbers are still in business. The drain snake has been my savior since I hit puberty. Have I said too much?
My point is that I am now 7 weeks postpartum and am finally able to be intimate with my husband again. This is BIG news! And yet I feel like a raggedy old sac of skin. So I thought I would spice things up a bit and get out the ol' shave gel and the new (of course) razor and have a go. All I can say is "Dayum!" Razor-burn is evil! Now, I know Nick accepts me for me and does not need any fancy tricks to be happy, but I just like the idea of feeling sexy. So...exactly how sexy is razor-burn? On a scale of one to ten, how sexy can one feel with red bumps along their bikini line (or in my case, granny panties line)?
I forgot about all the troubles that come back into play once my playground is in view again. It's almost a good enough reason to have another baby. It's a good thing I'm getting my tubes tied in just 10 days.
Which leads me down a whole new road of neurosis; surgery is, A) not fun, B) painful, and C) I'm not even getting bigger boobs in the process. But I am doing my due to society and keeping to my promise to only bring three perfect beings into this world so as not to make everyone else jealous. My perfect beings are asleep at the moment, so of course I want more of them because they look so...well, you know, perfect.
Where am I going with all this? I have no idea. I have a constant broken record in my head (in the voice of Austin Powers, of course); surgery, turning 35, pay the garbage bill, surgery, turning 35 and so on. Here's to neurosis!