The Perils of Manscaping.

  The average male body contains roughly a gallon and a half of blood, accounting for 12lbs of total body weight. On that Saturday afternoon, I joined a weight loss program that I pictured in bold red letters on the cover of Women's Health magazine's May issue, "Look great in that bikini, shed those last 2lbs in 2 minutes!"

  There's a rush of pride that overcomes all men naked in front of a bathroom mirror. Gut sucked in more than usual, triceps slightly flexed, while leaning over the sink so the light accentuates the outline of distant relatives to what used to be pectoral muscles, and hides the small stretch marks, slightly discolored in the crease of the armpit. In the most primitive sense, what woman could possibly resist? And when she saw me tonight on our 6 month anniversary, knowing the forethought that went into my grooming adventure, she had to be overwhelmed with desire and appreciation.

  Lukewarm water puddling in the sink, the new disposable razor lays on the white porcelain like it were resting on a satin pillow. The mp3 player attached to a docking station switches to Otis Redding,  prophetically setting the mood for the impending slow dance. "Do I need a razor or lawn mower for this job?".  I cleverly grin at my reflection, as if I just made the crowd at Madison Square Garden piss their pants in laughter. The extensive debate of plastic razor over beard trimmers plays out one last time. "You've shaved your face for years, just follow the grain and you can throw it away when you're done", "but it is fairly thick, and let's be honest, if it weren't for those bottom 2 ribs you'd have your face down there all the time anyway". The razor seemed more sanitary.

  The artistic side of me pictured the creative ways I could style and shape my manhood's mane: the landing strip, the Superman triangle, my initials, her initials, the soul patch that when standing on my hands would look like Hitler with a droopy nose? "Why am I standing on my hands?" I thought. This was a vital and important decision, as manscaping, when done correctly, was like looking in a rear view mirror. "Objects may appear larger than they really are".

  "You've been in there a while, is everything okay?" she yelled from the bedroom. "Just walkin the dog" I said. Our own little inside joke that would take on new meaning when she realized later what I was really doing.

  The shaving gel was unfamiliar and crisp like the hands of the Asian doctor in 7th grade that prodded, checking for a hernia in my first physical. "This isn't so bad" I thought to myself as I took those first few swipes. "It's actually kind of soothing, and this revitalizing additive might actually have a placebo effect and make me more youthful tonight". Distracting thoughts as my legs inched farther and farther apart. "Is that a new mole or has it always been under...", my eyes expand and eyebrows raise as I feel a slight twinge.

  People who survive traumatic situations always use the phrase, "my life flashed before my eyes", and until then I never truly understood how accurate that was. In a matter of 30 seconds my thought process changed from, "shit, i need to get a cloth", to "it's less than a quarter inch cut, how is there this much blood", to "Oh God! I wish I'd paid more attention in my Jr. High anatomy class. Was this going to diminish all future erections? Would this blood regenerate or was there a reservoir that I'd just depleted valuable resources from?", confirming that blood loss in one head does affect the other.

  As I lay bleeding on the icy tile, consciousness became a drifting luxury, half from the blood loss, half from the sight of my own blood, and 100% because of the sight of my own blood loss from my genitals. Before the blackout I managed to unlock the bathroom door and rustle around making enough noise to draw attention. The last memory I recall is the sight of pure fear and worry on the most beautiful face I'd ever seen.

  Fading glimpses of paramedics asking for blood type and medical history, and the tight grip of my savior locked onto my hand filled that carriage ride to my local emergency room. The doctors made the decision for me to go fully clean shaven, to sterilize the area for my two stitches. Laying there, during the transfusion, I heard the sweet words that solidified my love for the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The paper of my hospital gown crinkled as she leaned in and whispered in my ear, "next time you're thinking of walking the dog, tell me and I'll hold your balls out of the way".