Let’s talk about personal care, cleanliness, and shaving. It all relates to The Drummer, I promise.
I have mixed feelings about body hair, especially as it pertains to women. To start, the cultural norms I was raised in dictated that my legs and underarms must be shaved. My young adulthood led me to believe that pubic hair should be kept short and neat, maintained carefully lest I scare away a partner who would otherwise be interested.
Despite recognizing the obvious unfairness of these guidelines, they haunt me to this day, whispering their “should”s before I meet someone new (i.e. you should really shave your legs, you don’t want him thinking you’re a hobbit) and keeping me in the habit of shaving parts of my body that have never taken kindly to razors, thank you very much.
Over the course of this blog’s eponymous year, not one person ever attempted to shame me into altering my grooming habits to accommodate their preferences. I even had a few men express great relief (delight, even) to find that I didn’t subscribe to the bikini wax trend afflicting (no, not an overstatement) so many women of my generation. The Drummer was one of those. He went so far as to let me know that he was a bit disappointed I shaved at all (cue my stunned silence) and assured me that if we were together, I should retire my razors.
Obviously, there’s more to a man’s partner potential than his encouraging me to abandon a tedious personal care routine…..right?
For our first meeting, the Drummer picked me up at my place and drove us to get drinks at a nearby bar. We talked politics and music and beer. He was funny and easy to talk to, and we had lots in common. And as I found out after our visit to the bar, he was extremely…orally gifted, to put it delicately. But there was a down side. He had a distinct smell, and it was decidedly unpleasant. What a tragic combination.
However, time dulled this particular pungent memory, and we ended up having a second steamy rendezvous several months after the first. This time, his body odor was even worse. After he left, I was forced to wash all my sheets and blankets to eliminate the smell from overwhelming me when I walked into my room. Tragic, indeed, to have found such a talented lover with a seemingly insuperable dilemma. I couldn’t bear to tell him the reason why I never texted again. How could I?
On lonely nights, I sometimes think of him, recognize my power to summon his skills to my bedroom, but, really, is it worth all the resulting laundry? In short, no. No, it’s not.