By Heidi Rample
My boyfriend and I try to keep our relationship…not gross, for lack of a better word. We’ve been together for almost four years, and sure, Diedrich and I have gotten down and dirty, but to keep the relationship alive we’ve kept some things clean. We don’t pass gas in front of each other, if we have to talk about BMs, we do it in a medical way (neither of us are doctors, but neither of us think there’s anything sexy about fanning such personal things out in the open either). It’s not that we’re not THERE, it’s just that we like staying where we are.
We don’t want to kill the romance because we’ve got a great thing going. And we still do plenty for each other – Diedrich will go and buy tampons for me like it’s nothing (because, c’mon, it IS nothing), and I’ll occasionally help him with some manscaper duties. But plucking an eyebrow is one thing; those hairy patches on his back are simply gross.
It would almost be better if he had a hairy back, like if only the ultimate body groomer tool were able to tame the forest there. If he had more hair, he wouldn’t dry so easy, and he could get a glimpse of what it’s like for me to have long hair on my head – hair that takes forever to go from wet to dry. And I could get used to it, and I could threaten him with a back wax or hair removal pads if I don’t like how he does the dishes or hint at replacing his shower soap with Nair as an April Fool’s meta-joke.
But no – he’s got a smooth back, flawless, stunning, then BOOM! UGH! HAIR! Then delightful delts I love to run my fingers over and then shoulder hair just begging for a razor that makes me want to gag. It’s gross, it’s disgusting, and it lulls me into a false sense of shaved security, and it’s time for change. Whether it’s a full body wax or a close shave, it needs to be done. And I certainly won’t be the one to do that – nothing kills the romance quite like being asked to shave (either him or me). He needs a razor with an extension, a back shaver with a fancy long ergonomic handle designed for men whose partners are sick of hair patches. I’ll be more than happy to buy him some fancy male body shaver, but Diedrich’s got to do it, and he’s got to do it on his own. It’s a part of our system, a part of our relationship. Patchy hair is the worst kind of hair, and Diedrich’s the best kind of boyfriend; he just needs to keep it clean with something like the BAKblade.