Forewarning for the mens: This is a somewhat detailed account of my waxing "down there". Not explicit, but enough where you might just want to skip over this. If you're curious as to the goings ons, might I request you cram your no doubt quality remarks* about my lady bidness, particularly if I have to look you in the eye sometime in the future. Thanks a bunch.
(*unless you intend to pay me a compliment for bravery, then yeah - by all means, comment away.)
As I mentioned yesterday, I was off to get my first ever bikini wax. Being somewhat of a drama jerk, I may have gone on a bit about my nervousness. Though c'mon, let's consider the key players here:
Your private haired bits.
Hot wax being ripped off your private haired bits.
Oh, and you're paying for this.
I ask you - whose brilliant plan was this?
Anyway, as you can see, I have I made it out alive. As I told my friend Suz, quoting the formidable Destiny's Child, "I'm a sur-VI-vah." Not only did I survive and make this, but you can barely tell that I'm walking funny (or to rip from Cheers, "or should I say, 'funnier'?"-Diane)
To start with, I guess I should mention that barring formal medical training (complete with degree(s)), I am not really comfortable with those persons sans medical training seeing my naked anatomy South of the Equator. That said, you can imagine how thrilled I was when I heard the words every uptight girl wants to hear, "And you can keep your underwear on."
Oh bless your heart, miss.
Since I was a first timer, and I really didn't know what to expect as far as pain, so I popped a few Advil beforehand, luckily was wearing a very comfy pair of cotton underwear and constructed an approach as respects to the... the, ... uuh... "design" to be as pragmatic and "least invasive" in tone. Or what I affectionately refer to as, "The Chicken Shit Special." (TM).
The C.S.S. (as I call it) simply put is this: Put on a bikini bottom, any hair outside of the bikini bottom gets their walking papers, everything else inside the bikini bottom gets to live to see another day. Like God intended.
So there I was, my bottom half wrapped in a towel, and in my underwear. The girl who had the distinct honor of being "my first time" asked me to yank my underwear upwards to the sides as to where I thought would be reasonable for what I was looking to achieve. And then she offered, "Yeah, you might want to go higher than that."
It's not called the Chicken Shit Special for nothing.
First, they waxed along the sides of my underwear. No big whoop. Next, the ripping of the wax off the side. And truly, this? Also no big whoop. I honestly thought to myself, "Really, that's it? That's all ya got?" Don't get me wrong, it's nothing to be looking forward to or anything, but it didn't hurt. More of a mild annoyance. But when she said, "okay, there's a little bleeding but that's normal" my eyes did bug some. I didn't look right away, but when I finally did, damn if I could find any blood.
Of course, there's the hair that is outside the bikini bottom line that is in closer proximity to the, uh, you know, "Promised Land". She was going to just leave it with just the sides being done until I meekly mentioned about that other part of the bikini body. "Um, sooooo....can you do...I mean, I guess I can pass being shy about this and ask you, I mean, seeing as you've just seen my crotch and all."
She was amenable to this. Thankfully, this didn't involve any weird posing other than shifting my knee out to make a #4 with my legs (and trust me, after the research I have done on this topic (seriously, I invite you to read the comments of that entry), depending on the extent of the hair removal, there are positions that would rival the Downward Dog. And it was the possibility of these weird positions that caused me to worry, "Oh God, what if I fart? What if I HAVE to fart? I would die. Oh my God, I would absolutely die.")
This waxing, while a little more sensitive due to locale, also didn't hurt.
It (surprisingly) also didn't even hurt when she said she was going to get the tweezers to grab a few stubborn ones. ("uh, did you just say 'tweezers'??")
What was not pleasant was a result of her asking, "So, do you want a little off the top? Heh, that sounded kinda weird." I had asked do most people do that. Oh, they do? Alright, sign me up.
Okay, THAT was the part that kind of hurt like a bitch. That part I could have done without.
A few other positive highlights of this whole event (that took less than 10 minutes by the way):
Not hearing, "Hey Bev, clear all my appointments for the rest of the night."
Not hearing, "Yeah, we're going to need a lot more wax."
Not hearing, "Oh....well that's...interesting."
Not hearing, "Seriously, a new pair of underpants might run ya, what,...6 bucks?"
Not hearing, "Did you just fart?" Because I didn't. Not even once.
Overall, I would say the event a success. I might go so far to say I was worked up over nothing. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure if I gone in for the, um,... "Telly Savalas" as many women do, I might be singing a different tune. But I didn't and the C.S.S. worked for me and it can work for you, too.
And maybe, just maybe, I do have some superior High Threshold to Pain genetics working for me. And maybe next time, I can afford to be a little more brave.