At times I have to ask myself, "What were you thinking?" This morning was one of those moments. Perhaps I have good intentions, but those good intentions go terribly wrong at times. A big "Oh Poopy!" or maybe "Aw Sugar!" are common phrases to come from my mouth, but this morning, I had to hit my knees in prayer after the scene that unfolded. I begged God for forgiveness over the profanities that exited my mouth.
I usually go to my amazing waxer M.E. to get my brazilian waxes. With the way I have been feeling, getting out of the house to do so has been an issue. Not to mention the added expense while I am out of work is a burden.
Funny thing. Men seem to love brazilians. I also LOVE having my brazilian waxes. I have a high pain tolerance, and I really do not think they hurt. It is quick, easy, and so clean and fresh. It lasts a long time, and it makes me feel confident.
When you can't get a brazilian, you have two choices: Let it grow, or mow (shave). This puts you in a "hairy" situation. Letting it grow is not ideal for summer (or at all for me). I tend to shave my legs daily because I hate the feel of hair, even in the winter. Yet shaving, that brings about its own issues.
If I shave, my crotch screams in anger! I cannot wear a swimsuit for days, let alone underwear. Shaving my bikini area instead of waxing leaves me going commando for about a week. I get rashy. Not just a little rashy, but bloody & raw rashy. It is extremely painful. Here is part of the issue... If I shave, it will make my man happy because it is more appealing. If I shave, it will also leave him sad, because he would have to hear the words I never, ever choose to say: DO NOT TOUCH ME! I am in so much pain from shaving if I do so.
I haven't been able to get to my esthetician for my brazilian, She does not make house calls (I am beginning to wonder if I can bribe her), and I really needed to feel pretty and ready for anything. Who knows, maybe we will get a rain-free day this summer, and I can spend one of my days relaxing in a swimsuit while my kids play in some body of water lined with sand. MAYBE...
I purchased wax. Back in the day, before children, I used hard wax and easily took care of the pesky bikini zone. I mean, in college, when funds were limited, waxing at home in the bathroom was common. I could do this. RIGHT? On the shelf at the store I noticed the hard wax I was use to (but only used to do a bikini wax and not a full brazilian), and a little bit more expensive wax (same brand name) that states it is perfect for brazilians, also labeled "hard wax". I grabbed that one. BIG MISTAKE. Today I opened the package.
I am sitting in the bathroom, setting up my work area. My robe is on. I open the wax. DAMN IT! This wax is not completely hard, but not quite a sugar wax either. It needs to be microwaved, but is just soft enough to stick to the cap, and leave residue every where. It leaves a long train from canister to cap, which I twist and twist trying to break it free. What a mess. I succeed. I have yet to put on my rubber gloves.
I go down to the kitchen, stick it in the microwave for 40 seconds, and grab some olive oil. I quickly use the olive oil over the kitchen sink to remove the waxy residue from my fingers and plop on some gloves. I grab the wax from the microwave and dash upstairs.
I should mention that I am trying to be stealthy. You see, my in-laws stay with us during the summer. This makes personal things like this that much more difficult. Imagine if my father-in-law is curious about what's in the microwave. Or I truly get in some sort of awkward situation... There is no walking around in underpants for months at a time and when I get up in the middle of the night for a glass of water, I have to put on my Pjs. Privacy is limited. So, if I truly make some sort of sticky mess, and let's say, drop the wax on the floor, there is a lot of embarrassment and explaining involved with the clean-up.
I open the bathroom door to enter. It is at this moment that my 10 month old cat dashes in to the bathroom. He loves the bathroom and drinking from the sink. He jumps right on to the counter where the lid covered in wax sits. I quickly grab him with my gloved hands. There is already was residue on the gloves. As I toss him out of the bathroom his fur is left behind in clumps on my gloves. I never, ever use this word, but today, it is all that I could think of... This was NOT the PUSSY I had intended on waxing. Please forgive the vulgarness of that statement, but seriously, Can it get any more ridiculous?!
I peel off of my gloves, and I put on the spare pair that were in my robe pocket. I then go to work. So far, so good. The wax works amazing! Smooth skin is showing. NICE! But the wax is a hot mess, and difficult to use. I get one side close to being done, and my gloves are covered with a sticky mess. If I get close to anything it instantly sticks to my gloves. I have more gloves, but idiot me left them in the bedroom. I am really using my brain this morning. I have a few choices. Put on my robe, get it all sticky, and ruin it in order to retrieve more gloves. Make a mad naked dash into the bedroom, praying no one suddenly appears and sees me (it is only next door). Or attempt to continue as I am. I chose to continue.
I start on the left side now. I never hurt while getting waxed, but gosh darn it all, this HURTS! I notice I am left with a dime size bruise as I rip away one of the papers. It successfully removed the hair, but also is destroying my flesh. I look at it thinking, it is a good thing my husband knows what a hot mess I am, because that certainly looks like a hickey. This is when I notice that there are little blood spots that have formed on the right side. I have NEVER had this happen with waxing before.
I decide that I must be getting old. There is something about having a house full of children and many more responsibilities than you had in your college years, that make simple beauty tasks turn in to the equivalent of chasing a greased pig around a muddy sty. The whole time I am trying to keep my voice down, not allowing my in-laws or children to hear my cursing.
I then realize: This is why I am willing to pay $65 for a brazilian wax!! This is exactly why. I then think of M.E. and the books she has written about the funny things people say while being waxed, and her comedy show. I then slap my forehead, realizing, I am now most likely going to become "one of those women" that she writes and jokes about. I had yet to be one.
By the Way: You can purchase one of her books by clicking on the image:
When I get waxed M.E. and I carry on normal conversations. we talk about work, family, and recreation. We also talk about my past trauma, and how she feels I should write a book. You see, M.E. is the author of romance novels and more, not just her funny books about waxing ladies and men. She loves an idea for a good book. I have never been a funny story in one of her books yet. This has all changed today. That is when I notice that my gloved palm is stuck to my forehead. WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH ME TODAY????
This hurts like hell. I am sticking to everything. I am not even done yet.
I look down to survey my work. I have the center strip left to go. It is not a straight and pretty strip. It looks like an overgrown yard that had the mower die midway through the job. I QUIT right then and there. I would not be able to get to the middle. I think of all of the things that can still go wrong. I can picture getting my cheeks stuck together and having to try to sit in a tub of oil to try to loosed them and dissolve the wax. This would ultimately lead me to slip in the tub, falling, cracking my skull, or breaking a bone. I am home with my kids and in-laws, so my in-laws would have to come rescue me. I cannot even imagine. The hairy strips. The wax. The oil. The cat fur covered rubber gloves in the garbage. The wax covered sticks used to spread the wax. The scene was not pretty.
I began to think clean up. The tiny bottle of wax remover was not going to cut it. I stood in the tub and splashed my nether region with baby oil and began removing wax. It was every where! I thought about how this was not a sexy use for baby oil. I quickly washed it away, scrubbing the floor of the tub at the same time, trying to prevent a slipping accident. So much could still go wrong.
I remember telling my husband last week that I was going to try waxing again, but waiting until he was home for assistance. THIS IS WHY! Seriously. Last week I was using my brain. What happened to it today?
I have come to the conclusion. M.E. will be the only one to do my brazilian waxes in the future. This morning had not turned out like I had hoped. I also must hang my head in shame. I now must make an appointment with M.E. and get the job finished. I don't care how sick or disabled I am. I will have to find a time when someone can drive me. I must get this done. However, this also means I must tell her my story of this morning. I will become the next chapter in her book, and I am not thinking that is necessarily a good thing. It must be done though, because this today, is NOT a "Happy Hoo-Ha".
I feel about as sexy as this cat:
If you are looking for a great place to get waxed in Rochester, NY feel free to visit Mark & M.E. I highly recommend it.
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