Whuddup Victoria University? How was your winter break? Did any of the physicists in our midst discover any particles? Just kidding, I don’t actually care about your particles. Didya do anything sexy? Nine million years ago, when I was a first year in Weir House, I think I spent the entirety of my winter holidays fucking my high school boyfriend and gorging myself on luxuries straight outta my parents’ fridge. You wanna know what I’ve been doing? Sure thing, dear readers, sure thing. I spent my Salient break moving house. I’ve moved into a lovely little art deco apartment with my girlfriend. I’m living the dream—it’s a lesbian love nest and nobody steals my food and we can have sex on the couch if we want to, which we do. But fuck me, moving house is offensive.
Unsuccessful flat viewing after unsuccessful flat viewing after unsuccessful flat viewing? Offensive. Seeing your thousand dollar bond disappear out of your flat account? Offensive. Masochistically checking Trade Me and realising you can live in the Dunedin CBD for $100 bucks per week? Offensive. Trust, this isn’t even the end of my problems. My problems don’t even end with the packing and the dusting and the carrying and the crying. It gets worse. The worst thing about moving house is my new fucking shower.
I tried to prevent this kind of thing happening. I even asked about the fucking water pressure. “It’s good”, I was told. And like, it’s not bad. I even thought I could deal with the average-to-poor water pressure. I thought it’d be fine. That is, until I shaved my pubes. And yes, sometimes I shave my pubes so before you go calling me a bad feminist again let me ask what kind of feminist YOU are if you have a problem with how I style my own body hair? Feminism is about being pro-choice, from the contents of my uterus to the hot fuzz on my labia.
(Warning: the following paragraph is going to contain explicit discussion of pubic hair. If this kinda thing grosses you out I suggest that 1) stop reading or 2) grow the fuck up. Of course I have pubic hair, I’m a grown-ass woman. Your mum has pubic hair. Judy Bailey has pubic hair. Would you be grossed out if I wrote a column about my elbow?)
Trying to shave my pubes in my new shower is like trying to put out a bushfire with a mini Pump water bottle. I can’t rinse the razor for love nor money. Stray strands of pubic hair cling to my thighs and my shins and my toes, stoic when faced with the drizzle of water coming out of my pathetic excuse for a shower head. When I get out of the shower it looks like a yeti with alopecia has popped by for a rinse. I hate it. I’m offended by my shower. Modern plumbing, you’re not living up to my expectations. My hairy, hairy expectations.
P.S. Can anyone recommend a good waxer? *