As a young female who presents as feminine, and as someone who hates the prickle of stubbly legs, I often shave, especially in the summer. I am also incredibly clumsy and nick myself while shaving on a regular basis. Every time, I experience the same emotional process that I'm sure many others endure. It goes something like this:

You're ready to shave and have the smoothest legs possible.

"Wow, I'm going to be the softest person at the party tonight."

Then it happens. You cut yourself.

You feel the nick on your heel or behind your knee, and you know what's next.

Slowly, you realize what you've done and what's to come.

The string of profanities that comes along with your epiphany is too graphic to repeat. It may or may not even make sense grammatically, but you're too absorbed in what happened to even care.

Soon, your shower becomes a literal Red Sea.

It looks like a murder occurred in the shower. Your bathroom would light up like New York City at night if anyone sprayed Luminol on the tiles.

You get angry and start cursing your shaving skills.

Curse you, self, for putting me through this ordeal!

The stinging gets worse, and you feel as if you've had your leg chopped off.

"Well, guess it's time to just give up on ever walking or not being in pain again."

You feel like you've ruined your shaving job as you clean up after your injury.

Maybe it's best to wear pants at this point?

Finally, though, the bleeding stops, and you start to realize how glad you are that you actually decided to shave.

Can't. Stop. Touching. Legs.

You're ready to rock your newly smooth, hairless legs.

The pain is basically always worth it for the satisfaction of rubbing your legs and feeling polished AF.