So, the other day, while David was off working in North Hampton, I decided to have a vanity moment. Since moving to New York, I have been working out, on average, about five to six times a week. For the first two months here, I only missed one day at the gym. Now, every fagala knows that if you shave your chest hair, you are able to see your musculature better. So, as a reward to myself, I decided to grab a bottle of Nair for Men and give myself a look see at what the body was tellin'.
Now, I did this while David was away because he is partial to my chest hair. I don't mind it, but at times it gets in the way when I want to have an ooh ahh session with myself.
So, into the bathroom I went, bottle of Nair in hand (thanks Rite Aid!), and I applied the contents to my chest. I stood around in the bathroom, flexing in the mirror, waiting the requisite amount of time, opening the window so as not to pass out from the harsh chemical smell. After about a minute, I started having a tingling sensation around my nipples. After two minutes the sensation had increased to a soft burn. I held on and told myself I am a man. I could stand the pain for the three to five minutes recommended on the bottle. By the end of three minutes, my nipples were on fire.
At that point, I jumped into the shower and called on the name of Jesus.
After rinsing the hellfire from my chest, I noticed two things. One...only a small patch of hair had been removed on my chest...and two both of nipples had swollen up and looked like Macy Day Parade floats. If my nips were pierced, I would have tied strings to them and rented them out for Thanksgiving.
I gently pulled on a t-shirt and chalked the whole experience up as a life lesson in why DowJones and its chemical offspring are evil. My nipples were sensitive and swollen, but I thought...hey...they are still attached...so it's all good.
That is until I woke up this morning and found that my areolae had been replaced by two scabs.
Right now my already ample nipples look like I have two giant melted Hershey's kisses covering the tops like yarmulkes. Shalom!
After showering today and shaving off the rest of my chest hair, so as to match the one conspicuous bald spot just below my right pec, I came into the studio with the towel wrapped around me, under the armpits, covering my breasticles, like a real lady.
I told David that I had to show him something, and he wasn't allowed to laugh. I removed the towel. David's lips clamped down in a WWF death grip, and I was afraid the effort of not guffawing was going to make him blow out a testicle.
Be warned Nair for Men. Ye have made an enemy for life!