I keep a list of potential blog post topics on my computer so that when writer's block hits I can refer to it and hopefully come up with something that amuses you. Last week I INNOCENTLY posted a story about "the hair down there" and it started a firestorm of commenting and tweeting that led me back to a 2 year old email from my friend J- recommending a Brazilian waxing salon west of Boston that gave GREAT Brazilian waxes for $30.
A Brazilian Wax has been on my list for a long time. It seemed like this was a good time to cross it off the list and LOVE IT or cross it off the list for all time - all while doing important research for the blog. :)
I hemmed and hawed all weekend. I mentioned it to my husband. He was intrigued. Yesterday morning (Tuesday) I called at 8 AM. No one answered. I called again at 9:30 and asked for a noon appointment. They could squeeze me in!
Normally I wouldn't be able to skip out on work for 3 hours (2 hour drive+ 1 HR procedure) to be tortured beautified but I had a business meeting 10 minutes from the salon so it was perfect. Drive out, spend lunchtime on all fours and be back in business attire for my meeting. Who could argue with a plan like that?
I got ready for work at home opting to forgo mascara - just in case there were tears later on. I also chose boy brief underwear thinking that a thong might rub me the wrong way later.
People recommended that I take Ibuprofen beforehand. Not having any, I downed Excedrin. Apparently caffeine (like they add to Excedrin) is the WORST thing for hair removal pain relief. Who knew.
I got in my car and drove west. Manifest Destiny and all that, right? When I got to the salon I was early. I sat in my car for a minute and then put lipstick on. I figure that was the thing to do before introducing my vagina to a new friend right?
(I put the lipstick on my MOUTH. Sorry if that was confusing.)
I walked in. They asked me to sit in the waiting area. I noticed the bathrooms. I wondered about pee etiquette before a brazilian waxing. I had JUST showered before I left home and had not gone to the bathroom before leaving. But I HAD drunk and entire 20oz Diet Coke in the car and was starting to feel it. I definitely didn't want to have to pee during the procedure. I went to the bathroom and VERY CAREFULLY cleaned up afterward.
They sent me back to the waxing room. I looked around. The salon had 16' ceilings but the walls of the waxing room were only about 10' high - so people outside would be able to hear me scream. Good to know. The room was about 6' wide and 10' long with a bed and a small table with wax on it. I tried to make small talk with the technician, "It's hot." I said. In reality it was about 5000 degrees in there.
It quickly became apparent that she spoke no english - and was of questionable immigration status. "It's my first time." I said, hoping for some words of reassurance or at least some reassuring portuguese nodding. I got nothing. She turned away to grab some muslin strips. When she turned back she looked at me and then motioned to the floor. I guessed that was my cue to drop 'em. She watched as I stepped out of my shoes, pants and panties. Even my OB/GYN who is about to scrape my cervix leaves the room while I get naked. Oh well.
She motions to the table. I lie down. She spreads my legs. No towel to cover anything, I'm just there in all my terrified glory.
The smell of the wax reminds me of previous waxing attempts on my legs and lower stomach. They ended poorly. I am suddenly reminded that Hair removal and I are not on friendly terms. This thought hits me about a half a second before she pulls the first strip off.
I have to hand it to myself. I did not scream. But only because my ENTIRE FIST was in my mouth. She kept going. I had my left hand pressed against the wall, my right hand clenched against my diaphragm to prevent a breath large enough to generate a SCREAM. When she got to the sensitive part on the right side I launched the full 16' feet up to the ceiling, dug my nails in and held on for dear life until I noticed the other customers looking at me and dropped back down to the table. "Whoa!" she said, the only word she uttered the entire time that I understood.
I almost had her stop right there. There was NO FUCKING WAY I could last through the rest of it. I thought about people who get half tattoos and then realized that this was totally different - no one would ever know, I could just go home and shave No worries. But before my thought process was done she had moved on to clean up on that side and after the NERVE DAMAGE it hardly hurt at all.
I let her keep going. I still had my left hand pressed to the wall, I still clenched my right hand to my diaphragm. My right hand was sweating, my shirt was drenched. Did I mention it was 1 MILLION degrees in there and I was being TORTURED.
She kept going. She nudged my legs apart and really got in there. I was DYING. People, I am a BABY when it comes to hair removal but I've had 4 c-sections and this hurt way worse than that. To add insult to injury the "technician" kept a running gossip session going with the manicurist on the other side of the wall. The conversation was in portuguese so it wasn't even a distraction for me. Also, it wasn't loud so it was obvious that everyone in the salon could hear my gasps of pain.
She did a good job. I can tell because there is NO PART of me that didn't SCREAM IN AGONY. There was definite wax in contact with my 'love button' and even when she didn't get wax where it shouldn't be, her gloves got wax on them and wherever she would touch me would stick to them. Irritating because she was usually touching me to keep whatever she was touching AWAY from the wax!
She didn't ask me if I wanted her to leave any - but the fact that I had a triangle before was obvious. I had planned to have her take it off - just to see what it looked like - but I was in so much pain that the thought of having any more taken off was inconceivable so I just had her shape it and trim it. "Next time..." I said, fooling myself.
Finally she broke out the clean up lotion. Just when I thought she was done she had me roll over. She went to work again. It wasn't as bad this time, not as painful, not as AWFUL but unpleasant.
Finally she was done and I got off the table. I got dressed while she picked up. My clothes stuck. "Ah, there's still wax." I said, not daring to hope that she would understand, but she did. She gave me a towel with wax remover on it. It helped but later I would find more wax in HARD TO REACH places.
I actually THANKED her. I ACTUALLY TIPPED her! As I turned to leave she said, "What's your name?" Suddenly I felt dirty, like the morning after a one night stand where you realize that it wasn't special after all. I gave her my name. She couldn't pronounce it. I didn't correct her.
As I left I was ogled by two construction workers. I thought, "If they only knew" but now I wonder if they saw the limp in my step and DID KNOW.
I called my husband, "OW!" I told him.
"I'll kiss it and make it feel better," he promised.
During my meeting later I suddenly realized that my ass was on fire - all pins and needles and stingy. At first I sat up in my seat thinking it was the chair and then, realizing it was actually my ASS, I just ignored it as best I could.
When I got home I showed my husband. He screamed. "Maybe you should have waited to show me until the swelling went down." he said. (It was only mildly swollen but INCREDIBLY red.)
After the kids went to bed he gave me a tender look. "I can't!" I said, terrified. I'm calling a 3 day moratorium on sex. I think my tenderest parts will need at least that long to recover.
Everyone is telling me that the next time will be easier. There's a chance that I will give it another shot. The results are absolutely fantastic (if I do say so myself) and next time I will follow suggestions to load up on narcotics ibuprofen beforehand.
(Sex review to follow once the moratorium has been lifted.)