Women are not unicorns

But it turned out that way. She did not express a single assessment; this is solely my sense of aesthetic perception.

As long as I thought that everyone had vegetation there, there were no problems. As soon as, at the age of sixteen, I discovered someone my age with a more well-groomed vulva, I was shocked. I took up the machine.

Oh no, I decided to go completely bald only four years later.

That time I adjusted my hips and pubis, leaving a thin strip just out of fear that I would get hurt.

At twenty, I got the hang of doing my job cleanly, to a fault.

Do you know why? The same guy who cheated on me subtly shamed me for being furry.

If I had already been sexually educated then, I would not have allowed myself to endure such an insult. As it turns out, my husband loves me with any hairstyle.

This guy, having achieved his goal, still turned out to be an asshole and left me, but since then I have become addicted to the machine.

You know, it's like riding a bicycle, once you ride it, you never forget how. I'm thirty-two and still rolling.

There are various ways to look sleek, but is it worth it?

Sometimes it doesn't hurt anyone to experiment, just for your own sake, for the sake of new sensations, for the sake of a loved one, for the sake of fashion, to become the most beautiful of all, for any reason you want — after all, it's just hair.

God, don't take this seriously.

You should also do the same with hairstyles on your head. True, choose a good master, and that’s it. In this matter, conservatism is completely unnecessary. Hair tends to grow back.

As for arms and legs, the question is sometimes the opposite. Is it worth depilating/epilating light invisible hairs on your arms, or even legs, if they later become hard, dark and thick? Maybe not for everyone, but there is a risk.

I would recommend thinking and deciding whether you are ready to deal with body hair for the rest of your life?

If yes, then go ahead.

I'm in a good position with my genetics; I only have to shave my lower legs.

However, my school friend in the eighth grade, having shaved off the sparse brown hairs from her arms, forever condemned herself to wax stripes. She is sure that she is better off without fur.

Do you know if a woman was like a yeti, she would be loved?

Who will answer?

Yes, the girl in the knitted sweater, please stand up. I'm sorry, what? Close the microphone please, we can't hear you.

“I don’t shave at all…” he boldly declares, blushing.

— And how do you live?

— My husband dotes on me. Every day requires sex. I'm happy.

— We are happy for you. Thank you. Sit down.

You see. This little scene is here to show you that it's up to you to decide how you look and whether you like to feel that way.

I also have an opposite story from my life. A good friend of mine, fifty-five, lived for twenty years in a marriage with a military doctor younger than herself. She has psoriasis and has difficulty depilating/epilating. She herself is a dark-skinned and woolly girl, like a teddy bear, but at the same time very charming.

For her husband this was not a problem, but for her it was.

After twenty years of family life, she was tired of her husband’s jealousy and aggressive sex, packed her things and for three years now lived as she liked, namely without psoriasis and hair.

A friend of mine found a way to reduce the manifestations of the disease (crusts on the body) and finally learned how to remove hair, at least from her legs.

You know, it turns out that she needed it, not her husband. A man doesn't care if he's in love and wants to possess you. How do you feel?

Like this. We women can be like yeti, with the condition that we are happy at the same time.

A curtain.

"Breast fibroadenoma."

My breasts once scared me so much that I couldn’t think about anything else.

I sat in line to see the mammologist at the oncology clinic, and with my thoughts I chose the path that I wanted to take for the rest of my days.

Yes its true! Nothing worried me more. Not the ex, not the studies, not the money. I was preparing to shoot for the last time, so that the fountains would sing serenades. I wanted to live the rest of my days so brightly that they would write about me in the newspapers.

Well, let's start from the very beginning. Around December two thousand and seven, I woke up on my bright red bed linen with my hand on my chest (yes, I loved this set then, it somehow reflected my inner state well). By that time, I already hated the ex who left me and longed to live.

So, as I remember now, I’m lying on my right side, my hand on my left chest: “Give me — I think — I’ll remember.”

I’m also curious, does this happen? I think it happens, I think that the body sometimes communicates with us.

Using my fingers, I carefully felt a small oval-shaped lump of one and a half centimeters, soft and slightly painful.

My heart sank with horror.

You know, even sweat appeared from panic. I ran to the shower to look in the mirror, everything was smooth, there was no discharge.