WARNING: This is so NSFW I can’t even. I just CAN’T EVEN. Much like that article we released documenting a week’s worth of unsolicited cock selfies.

Let’s set the scene…

I’ve rushed home from work to get ready for a date. It’s a fourth date, to be exact, with this particular man. We already took care of the Third Date Cliche, so I’m looking forward to a little more than the gorgeous meal he’s cooking for us at his place.

I take my carefully planned outfit (casual, but not scruffy) out of my wardrobe. I lay it out on my bed along with a couple of  cute, sparkly accessories. I start running a hot bath. I know it’s going to take 20-25 minutes to fill the tub, so this is the window where I choose to take care of the Sex Prep.

And this is where my dating disaster begins

HAIR REMOVAL SPATULA

I take my trusty tube of hair removal cream (disclaimer: I am performing hair removal because it’s my personal preference. Not because I feel like a have to) and realise immediately I have made a Huge Mistake. In a fit of minimalism, it appears I have thrown away the spatula that delivers the cream to my unruly lady garden. Hm.

My solution? Take a Biore Pore Strip out of it’s foil sachet. Use as makeshift spatula. My hope is that this will provide a good enough vehicle to get the cream on, and still be able to fashion myself a landing strip a la Brazilian waxes. I paste it on, not entirely convinced my little pubey strip is quite as wide as I’d like it, but figure it’s better than nothing. 

The smell of cosmetic potions and burning hair fills my nostrils, and I’m satisfied Immac is doing it’s thing.

Oh. Fuck.

Fifteen minutes later, my bath is nearly full and it’s time to scrape the hairy cream off of my vajayjay. Makeshift spatula is less than helpful. This is where I begin to worry – my little landing strip is about as wide as a cigarette.

Panic ahoy. I scramble into my bath to put a halt to any remnants of cream removing my last few hairs.  After a rub down in the bath, I think I can count about five pubes left attached to my skin. Sweet baby Jesus and the orphans.

Naturally my first port of call is my friends. They weren’t very helpful. I’d say they went through stages.

Stage 1 – Shock

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How else would they have grasped the gravity of the situation?

Stage 2 – Reason (sort of)

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Sound advice. Followed by an offhand comment and more shock.

Stage 3 – Abandonment

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Last ditch solution before going full Hollywood
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I wouldn’t be so annoyed by their attitude, but I’d been putting their feelings first (read: I cropped out the top of my clitoris).

Stage 4 – Despair

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Note all spelling going out of the window as shock really sets in.

Stage 5 – Sarcasm

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Not helpful.

Learn from my dating disaster

To summarise, my advice is thus:

  1. Sort pubes out at least a day before your date. If you can’t, for the love of all that is holy and sane, just use a razor. 
  2. If you need any help on this front, consult your friends via words, not pictures.
  3. Never, ever give me your phone number.
  4. Don’t borrow my brow liner pencil either.

Take it from one who knows – drawing your pubic hair back on is not a thing you’re ever going to want to be part of your life. Someone out there must be able to top this, right?

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