I’ve received my last warning. He says I should never go to his place with bushy hair again. Not just bushy hair but the one that grows down there.

I like to keep it because the blade does something bad to me. It leaves me with bumps and severe itch that lasts as long as my there is bald. It’s terrible when you’re in public and itching down there. But this is not the kind of itch I can ignore so to prevent that, I leave my place a little bushy.

When it grows too long, I use scissors to trim it. I won’t say I do a good job with the scissors but it’s not the kind of cut the world sees so I leave it like that.

My boyfriend doesn’t like it. It’s been a reason we quarrel. It’s been a reason we stayed away from sex. He’s denied me a birthday gift because of that. We’ve fallen into a long silence because of that.

“Shave! Shave ooo shave! What kind of woman keeps this level of bush in between her thighs? Is it a shrine? Are you keeping a zoo?” He would say.

I’ve used the lifetime of this relationship to give reasons. To defend myself. To say no. When he said, “So can’t you do this one thing for me?” I cut a lot out with scissors but all he wanted to see was skin. A bald cookie.

Days ago, he gave me a last warning. He doesn’t want to see my face again until he sees it bald. M’abrɛ mpo. One relationship I entered, I’m always receiving warnings. What is that?

— Hilda

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