So – after a second bottle of wine and the total lack of any adult supervision, a profoundly misguided manscaping operation has escalated into what can only be described as a life threatening injury.

It all started innocently enough with some experimental waxing. Despite being shitfaced and immune to pain – this proved to be a poor strategic decision. Approximately 1 milimetre into proceedings, the realization that I had over committed began to dawn, and after googling solvents in vain, the devastating absence of an exit strategy sharpened into vivid focus.

There was only one thing for it. Grit your fucking teeth and get it over with. Staring apprehensively at the crime scene, I took a deep breath, pulled for all I was worth, slipped on the tiles, banged my head on the kitchen wall and twisted my dodgy knee again.

Am now in the hospital waiting room awaiting some form of prescription medication. The crowning insult being that the fucking wax paper thing is still attached and still needs to be dealt with. Forgot to put any boxers on too – so if the doctor wants me to take my trousers off to examine my swollen leg, we’re going to enter some very weird territory. Though on the bright side, at least I’ll have some decent narcotics to soften the blow.

Saturday nights aren’t nearly as good as they used to be.

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