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Women are not unicorns - Маргарита Резник

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Название:
Women are not unicorns
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9 февраль 2024
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Women are not unicorns - Маргарита Резник

Women are not unicorns - Маргарита Резник краткое содержание

Women are not unicorns - Маргарита Резник - описание и краткое содержание, автор Маргарита Резник, читайте бесплатно онлайн на сайте электронной библиотеки My-Library.Info

A book for women and about women. Cheerful, honest, frank. Unobtrusively teaches a woman to understand, accept and love herself. The author includes readers' own experience and knowledge, and also tells the stories of her friends, acquaintances and relatives, diluting the story with humor and practical advice for increasing female attractiveness and sexuality. The book provides answers to many questions that are not customary to ask in polite society, and reveals the secrets of happiness, financial solvency, achieving internal harmony and peace of mind.A woman is a person, not a rib.A woman is a person, not a unicorn.A woman is a person, not the weaker sex.

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Women are not unicorns - читать книгу онлайн бесплатно, автор Маргарита Резник
humorous. It's no laughing matter at all. I would say, only tears and nothing more.

At about twenty-six, I had the only epilation of the bikini area in my area using sugaring. My mother is a woman. It's like getting high to withstand such hell.

Are you ashamed to lie with your furry vulva up in front of another woman, so that she plucks you like a chicken? Noooo. By the second minute or so you think you're over the Vietnam War. And I don’t care how the master looks at you.

Lord, what lengths do we go to for the sake of men? Are they men?

Do you know when I first realized that genital hair is a little unnecessary?

When my friend, late with puberty, washed herself in my bathhouse. I noticed that we are very different. “Her” and “mine” were like a child and an aunt, given that Edita is six months older than me.

Pride, of course, was hurt. Self-esteem is damaged. I couldn’t imagine that without clothes I looked worse than the other girl.

But it turned out that way. She did not express a single assessment; this is solely my sense of aesthetic perception.

As long as I thought that everyone had vegetation there, there were no problems. As soon as, at the age of sixteen, I discovered someone my age with a more well-groomed vulva, I was shocked. I took up the machine.

Oh no, I decided to go completely bald only four years later.

That time I adjusted my hips and pubis, leaving a thin strip just out of fear that I would get hurt.

At twenty, I got the hang of doing my job cleanly, to a fault.

Do you know why? The same guy who cheated on me subtly shamed me for being furry.

If I had already been sexually educated then, I would not have allowed myself to endure such an insult. As it turns out, my husband loves me with any hairstyle.

This guy, having achieved his goal, still turned out to be an asshole and left me, but since then I have become addicted to the machine.

You know, it's like riding a bicycle, once you ride it, you never forget how. I'm thirty-two and still rolling.

There are various ways to look sleek, but is it worth it?

Sometimes it doesn't hurt anyone to experiment, just for your own sake, for the sake of new sensations, for the sake of a loved one, for the sake of fashion, to become the most beautiful of all, for any reason you want — after all, it's just hair.

God, don't take this seriously.

You should also do the same with hairstyles on your head. True, choose a good master, and that’s it. In this matter, conservatism is completely unnecessary. Hair tends to grow back.

As for arms and legs, the question is sometimes the opposite. Is it worth depilating/epilating light invisible hairs on your arms, or even legs, if they later become hard, dark and thick? Maybe not for everyone, but there is a risk.

I would recommend thinking and deciding whether you are ready to deal with body hair for the rest of your life?

If yes, then go ahead.

I'm in a good position with my genetics; I only have to shave my lower legs.

However, my school friend in the eighth grade, having shaved off the sparse brown hairs from her arms, forever condemned herself to wax stripes. She is sure that she is better off without fur.

Do you know if a woman was like a yeti, she would be loved?

Who will answer?

Yes, the girl in the knitted sweater, please stand up. I'm sorry, what? Close the microphone please, we can't hear you.

“I don’t shave at all…” he boldly declares, blushing.

— And how do you live?

— My husband dotes on me. Every day requires sex. I'm happy.

— We are happy for you. Thank you. Sit down.

You see. This little scene is here to show you that it's up to you to decide how you look and whether you like to feel that way.

I also have an opposite story from my life. A good friend of mine, fifty-five, lived for twenty years in a marriage with a military doctor younger than herself. She has psoriasis and has difficulty depilating/epilating. She herself is a dark-skinned and woolly girl, like a teddy bear, but at the same time very charming.

For her husband this was not a problem, but for her it was.

After twenty years of family life, she was tired of her husband’s jealousy and aggressive sex, packed her things and for three years now lived as she liked, namely without psoriasis and hair.

A friend of mine found a way to reduce the manifestations of the disease (crusts on the body) and finally learned how to remove hair, at least from her legs.

You know, it turns out that she needed it, not her husband. A man doesn't care if he's in love and wants to possess you. How do you feel?

Like this. We women can be like yeti, with the condition that we are happy at the same time.

A curtain.

"Breast fibroadenoma."

My breasts once scared me so much that I couldn’t think about anything else.

I sat in line to see the mammologist at the oncology clinic, and with my thoughts I chose the path that I wanted to take for the rest of my days.

Yes its true! Nothing worried me more. Not the ex, not the studies, not the money. I was preparing to shoot for the last time, so that the fountains would sing serenades. I wanted to live the rest of my days so brightly that they would write about me in the newspapers.

Well,


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