Slacktory

Girl covered in hair

The Evil Genie grants three wishes a week. Leave a wish in the comments!

TS wishes: Dear Evil Genie, I wish I could remove all my hair, you know, down there, without any of the pain. k, thanks.

Evil Genie replies: You’ll have to excuse me, as genies lack a down there to remove hair from, but I’m assuming you mean you’d like to eradicate the fuzz on some kind of human genitals? Probably a vagina, as is the cultural norm? Is this correct? I was terribly close to scalping everyone in Australia, so I hope we’re on the same page now.

DONE. All of the hair “down there” has been removed without even the slightest twinge of pain, forever. Solved? Not quite. Sure, the hair wafts down from your nether regions without the socially uncomfortable, blinding yank of waxing or the warty, angry ingrown hairs of shaving or the whatever-it-is feeling of those mysterious foams and gels that they sell on late night TV, but there is no relief. I think I wanted the word “burning”, for the gels.

Save your face and a demurely triangular area on your pubis, your entire body is coated in thick, curly, tightly wound hair. It feels almost closer to having scales; it’s so dense and matted that your skin can’t breathe. You find it difficult to wear clothes over your fur, but you are forced to don a tiny pair of UMBRO brand running shorts — for propriety’s sake, and because you don’t want your vagina to catch a cold. You look like a stripper living and working on the Planet of the Apes. The hair is virtually unremovable without pricey electrolysis, and with your new look, finding a job is tough.

You try to move into the woods of the Pacific Northwest, hoping to be mistaken by a Sasquatch family or at least the Henderson clan for a littlefoot, seeing as you are still not very big. When you are found by tribe of hairy hill people, however, they reject you because of your unfamiliar, unremovable, bitsy UMBROs. Realizing that you will starve in the woods alone and that, when it comes to hikers, you’re MUCH more scared of them than they are of you, you head back to your regular life.

You return to your apartment, dejected and filthy. You know that tomorrow you will have to set about getting a job in telephone customer service, but tonight you just order a pizza and cry. Tomato sauce splashes onto your coat but you make no move to clean it off.

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