But things don’t look medical emergency bad, so you slather your nether regions in coconut oil, point the fan directly at your poon and take some advil.
There is no need to detail an exact laundry list of symptoms, but just know that wearing pants becomes pretty much unbearable. And because of the way your health insurance is set up, you find yourself shelling out bands at the urgent care clinic. But thank God for the young women of color staffing the office the day you finally hobble in.
“I steamed my beave and now it’s fucking pissed,” you announce at the front desk. There’s no one else in the lobby, so you guys have a good laugh but then you have to lean in with a more serious face: “No really. I need to see the doctor.”
It turns out that you only have a yeast infection (albeit a pretty gnarly one), no diagnosable burns, and your poon isn’t even close to the craziest thing the doctor has seen that day. Who knows what kind of bizarre Los Angeles sex injuries she’s attended to but amen amen amen! You head home with a prescription and the long list of things you promised God you would do if he saved your vagina. So get to it, boo!