This is not an image of the author’s Vajazzling experience

Late last year, I was vajazzled against my will.

I was at a beauty salon in my home town and I was booked in for a Brazilian wax.

As usual I hadn’t requested a particular beautician. I’m not one of those who says “Oh I always go to so-and-so”. I quite enjoy the veil of anonymity that comes with a different person dropping hot wax on your lady parts every couple of months. I’d prefer not to be buddies with the person who gets that fun-fun job.

A quick and crucial bit of background before I continue with the story: I am not good with pain. In fact, I am a giant wuss bag. I don’t like blood, I don’t like needles and I cry liberally and tell everyone around me when something hurts.

So when I’m having a wax, I try and pretend I’m somewhere else. I go into the ‘happy place’ (sometimes a vaguely inebriated place), I close my eyes and let the beautician jabber on. I don’t concentrate on what’s happening. I don’t pay attention in the slightest.

On this one particular occasion – I was on the home stretch to being hairless, when I felt the weirdest sensation and realised very quickly that Something. Was. Not. Right.

I sat up abruptly and to my horror saw this woman using this tiny tube of glue to affix these sparkly diamante things to my lady parts….

“Ah, WhaTtheF*#kDoYouThinkYou’reDoing?”

“Oh didn’t we tell you?” exclaims 19-year-old super perky and excited beautician lady. “This month we’re doing a FREE vaazzling for all our regular customers!”

Vajazzling, anyone?

“I don’t want vajazzling thanks. I’m quite happy living a vajazzle-less life. Please take, um, just take that off. Now,” I said (trying to remain calm in the face of my newly-sparkly vagina).

“Oh no, don’t worry! It’s totally FREE!” she responds. As if somehow that makes this okay.

“Yes. But I don’t care that it’s free. I don’t want it,” I confirmed.

“We can switch shapes you know? If you don’t like the love heart, we could try a butterfly instead?”

Seriously. Do I look like the kind of woman who wants a butterfly down there? A butterfly?

To cut a painfully long discussion short, she ended up removing the offending sparkly things. Not before suggesting a myriad of little sparkly pictures (including the word SEXY) as alternatives for me.

I do not tell a lie. This actually happened. I am still in recovery.

Dear Mamamia readers – help me to realise that I did not go through this horrific experience alone. Surely, there are others?

What’s your beauty horror story?

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