I Burned My Vagina….AND IT HURT.

*******

*******

I’m sure I can’t be the only one that does this, but sometimes after a little fun with your partner, you need to freshen up a bit, am I right ladies?

Well a while back I found myself in that exact position…unfortunately this time the “freshening up” took a little twist for the….HOT.

Here, allow me to explain;

I am standing in the bathroom, debating if I need to take a whole shower or if some version of a washcloth wipe down will work, when I notice a small bag that I had haphazardly thrown on the bathroom counter earlier that afternoon. It was bag of free samples that the doctor had given me at my routine gynecological exam that morning and hey, who doesn’t like free stuff? I suddenly remembered that I had a seen a wet wipe thing in there while I was poking around in the bag, waiting for the receptionist to print my bill.

“Perfect!’ I thought to myself as I grabbed it out of the bag. I briefly looked at the front of it, read the words “personal feminine hygiene cleansing cloth,” ripped that baby open, and got down to business.

When I was finished I washed my hands, flipped off the light, started to make my way down the stairs, and wait….wait….something feels….strange….

I stopped for a minute, wondering why my lady bits were starting to burn while at the same time everything down there felt a little cold. I’ll admit it, I started to panic a little bit.

This is not normal.

I stood there for a moment half freaking out and half wondering if this was some kind of strange nightmare before racing back up the stairs to ponder this situation behind the privacy of the bathroom door.

“Why does it feel like I have flaming underwear on with a few ice cubes hidden inside?”

“I must be allergic to something that was in the wipe” was the only logical explanation that I could come up with as my vagina was positively screaming “HELP!!!! We are on fire!!!”

What kind of “stop, drop, and roll” do you do for a flaming vagina? Somersaults?

Fire needs water, am I right? The next thing I know I’m in the shower bending every which way, trying to get the water to cover every millimeter of my lady bits, and you know what? It was not helping. Not helping AT ALL. NOTATALL.

I didn’t even know what to do at this point; it really is a little bit difficult to think logically when your fun place is burning down. I got out of the shower where I found myself hopping around in a towel while doing some strange version of the potty dance. My girly parts felt as though I was literally sitting on the stove burner and at the same time had an icicle tampon in (which doesn’t make any sense seeing as how my nether regions didn’t actually ingest the wipe).

“What the hell was in that thing?” I said aloud as I rifled the package out of the trashcan and flipped it over to read the ingredients.

“Personal feminine hygiene cloth helps soothe the effects of menopause with extended cooling effects. For use on neck, arms, and chest. DO NOT — USE IN INTIMATE AREAS.”

I am so stupid. I had just reduced myself to the epitome of the idiot that needs warning labels. “Do not dry hair while in bathtub. Do not iron clothes while on body.” Yep, that’s now me. Wonderful. This really was a new low for me, I’ll admit it.

The main ingredient was alcohol. Alcohol my ass, that sucker was a blow torch in a deceptively small package. I kid you not I was 100% convinced that scar tissue was going to seal my fun place shut forever; that is if I had any skin left down there after the flames had been extinguished.

So there I am, dripping wet, using a hand mirror to try and fan out the flames of hell, screaming into a towel so as not to alert the man so innocently watching TV on my couch, and wondering how many medical procedures it was going to take to fix all the damage that I had surely inflicted upon myself.

Can you actually call an ambulance for a vagina burn? Is that something that would be covered by insurance? Let me tell you, I came very close to finding out the answer to that question.

Also, I would like to point out that they were NOT lying about the extended “relief.” That shit burned for nearly 13 hours straight.

For the next two days I wore nothing but an icepack, granny panties, and a skirt. Thankfully everything eventually went back to normal down there but unfortunately I had to sacrifice my hairdryer, as it eventually shorted out while being used on the “cool” setting for an extended period of time. I never did get up the courage to tell my boyfriend how stupid I was, but for the next two days every time I shuffled past him, walking as if I had been riding a horse for too long, I’m pretty sure I saw a glimmer of proud accomplishment in his eyes.

Had to put a heart there, seemed a little too up close and personal for the internet!

Moral of the story? Don’t rub anything on your lady bits that wasn’t made for rubbing on lady bits.