Tuesday, 25 August 2009

My vagina, My nemesis, My past – Part Two

She hands me a mirror and says “Have a look and if there’s anything you want me to do just let me know.”

I think it unlikely I will want her to wax or pluck me anymore than she already has done. My legs look as if they have measles and my groin is speckled with bloodied pores and feels as if it is on fire. I am left clutching a mirror. There is no getting away from it. It’s time to look at my vagina.

I’m supposed to be looking at the quality of the waxing but I couldn’t give a shit to be honest. I’m much more interested in the quality of my womanhood. It looks pretty much as it has always done except that the smooth V shape at the bottom has been replaced by tiny overlapping layers of skin which I know is where the delightful nurse stitched me up. Nobody but me would know the difference. I doubt that even Lorel who has seen me up close and personal, countless times, under bright lights would even notice. But I know and that’s enough.

As I leave the salon it’s hard to believe what I have been through in the short space of time that has elaspsed. I have been called ‘babe’ approximately two thousand three hundred and seventy eight times and confronted two of my biggest fears: my post baby vagina and the best friend who betrayed me. Thankfully I have managed to conquer both with the same poise and acceptance which are of course, the real qualities of my womanhood.

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