Waxing

Ye Old Art Of Waxing

sq_carell_chest_wax_300x300I’m about to embark on a week filled with sun, sand, and cocktails … lots and lots of cocktails … at odd hours of the day … when you are properly at work … mwahahaha! (Sorry, I had to).

But as I’ve been making mental lists and starting to pile up things I would like to bring with me (#overpacker), it also has brought something to my attention that not a lot of people feel comfortable talking about … but oh yeah, we’re going there. That would be waxing, kids … waxing.

When you go on a beach vacation, you basically have it all out there for a week, as bathing suits leave little the imagination. Even if you’ve moved to the one-piece (which, for the most part, I have), there is a lot of skin you’re showing … a lot of skin that if you’re a lady, shouldn’t be covered in hair. Hair is gross … woof.

I’m a waxing neophyte. The only thing I’ve ever gotten waxed is my eyebrows … and that took me years to commit to. I was so scared of the pain I walked around like bushy mcbusherson … it was hot, let me tell ya (I was also 13, give me a break, that is what those awkward years are for, right?)

But now, it is all about getting your bikini area waxed. And to that I say … bitch please. I’ve heard horrific stories about a thing called a “Brazilian wax.” Perhaps they are urban myths, but I would rather not pay a total stranger to make me get on all fours, ALL-FOURS, naked, and have them take a burning hot substance to my lady parts. It just doesn’t sound pleasant … to be completely honest it sounds nuts. Call me a Granny all you want, I’m here eating Werthers Originals and clutching my handbag for dear life. I keep it real. The stories I’ve been told and the screams I’ve heard at salons from women enduring the Brazilian are something made from nightmares.

I realize the “Brazilian” is the extreme end of waxing. But the PG-rated wax, the ones where I hear you put your legs in stir-ups and still have a stranger get all up in your bid-niss whilst being half naked … hmm yeah, still not my cup of tea. I’m not a prude. I’m just not down for paying for embarrassing torture. At least give a girl a shot of vodka before getting that personal with her, my God.

Sure, dealing with your “bikini area” yourself isn’t pleasant either, but at least you are alone in your shower. Sure, the end result usually looks like you have tiny red spider bites all around your woo haa or a weird rash … but quite frankly I would rather that than, again, paying a stranger to be all up in my bid-niss making me turn and twist in weird positions for the sake of removing ever stitch of hair. And if anyone questions my weird rash or wonders if I have an STD, I will be HAPPY to explain to them my theory on waxes. Yep. That is sure to bring all the boys to the yard.

You know what, your gyno should give you a free wax after your annual. I would be okay with that. He/she, a trained professional, has already been down there exploring, poking and prodding … why not get a complimentary wax after it all. I mean the whole visit is rather unpleasant to begin with, why not get a little “spa-like” treatment afterwards to heal your wounds of being completely violated for the sake of lady health. Just a thought, gynos of the world, just a thought.

I know, I know … hundred and thousands of women get waxes every year. I bet if you’re reading this and you’re into bikini waxes you think I’m the biggest wuss in the world. And to that I say … you are correct, sir. Unless I’m going to go live in a nudist colony on planet “that would never in blazing hell happen” I will most likely never get a Brazilian. I may try a regular wax just for funsies, though. But someone better get me drunk before hand. That is an order.

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