Bush Whacking With A Twat Trimmer

To paraphrase Andrew Dice Clay, if I may. “Surly, Surly quite contrary trim that pussy it’s so damn hairy!” If you’re a long time reader, you know I’m not one to shy away from the awkward conversations. If you’re new, well, you’re about to learn this little lesson. If you’re uncertain, turn back now.

Since I’ve taken up the noble sport of cycling, I’ve become incredibly twat-centric. It’s hard not to when you’re spending hours astride a tiny saddle working on finding your maximum pain threshold. Now don’t get me wrong, I like cycling. I’m having a blast whizzing around on my bike. Except for the fact that after 3 or 4 hours on a ride I can no longer feel the more crucial parts of my nethers, and the rest of them are screaming for mercy.

I’m doing all I can to alleviate the pain. I wear those fancy shorts with the padded crotches that look like I’m wearing adult diapers. (My husband Dave likes to grab my ass and ask if I’m “carrying a load”. Yeah, he’s mature.) I even spend a good part of the morning before my ride slathering up my hoo-ha and hoo-ha adjacent body parts with anti-diaper rash cream for athletes. Yeah, I know, I’m living the dream. I’ll bask in your envy later.

It was suggested by one of my readers that I ought to add pubic hair removal to the equation. Well sure, that makes sense. Only there’s a bit of a hitch in that plan. I don’t wax. At least not any more. I used to be a big fan of the Playboy wax, but there were permanently scarring complications and that option got nixed from the list. I don’t like shaving my crotch ’cause it itches like a mother when the hair starts growing back. Mind you, if I ever eat the worm in a bottle of Mescal it’s possible I’d be willing to let Ouchy The Clown shave me. Since it seems that you’re not allowed to get Nair all up in your business without running the risk of a chemical burn, depilatories are kind of out of the question too. Not to mention they smell funky, and no self-respecting woman wants to run the risk of getting funky crotch stench. So? What’s a girl to do?

Enter the at-home Twat Trimmer! Okay, so that’s not what they call it, but damn, they really should. I saw this advert for this handy little tool the other day and thought I’d give it a whirl. While it won’t get all the hair off like waxing or shaving, it does whack the weeds. So off to Target I went to pick me up one of these handy little numbers and got busy trimming the hedges. I gotta admit, I was a wee bit leery of aiming a battery operated razor at my crotch, but I pushed through the Edward Scissorhands flashbacks and got to work.

The tool worked quite well, I will admit. However, the advert sort of implies that you can easy trim your bush into a myriad of easy shapes. This is not true. Well, at least for me. As far as I can tell you need to be about as limber as a Cirque du Soleil acrobat to accomplish this feat without the help of a trained assistant and a stencil, or at least a trim by numbers kit. I wonder if I could get someone to design a “Eat at Surly’s” stencil?

Yes, I just said that.