Image: All I wanted to do was get ready for summer…
This Saturday started off quite normally: a nice workout, a late lunch, a bit of shopping. And then things went terribly awry.
I walked into a small day spa I had read about on Yelp. I was not really worried about the events that were about to unfold – I had gotten bikini waxes a thousand times. It’s summer here; I am a recent transplant from the United States and glad to be avoiding winter/the polar vortex while all my friends are trapped in their teeny NYC apartments. Summer means wearing a bikini; summer means making sure you have all your grooming taken care of.
After a good twenty minutes of trying not to tense up/hold my breath/cry – you know, normal behaviour when you’re getting waxed – she was not done. At the time I remember thinking, “Jeez, this is taking so much longer than normal; she must be super thorough.”
If by ‘thorough’ you mean ‘completely removing all signs of life on Mars’ then you would be correct. In her thick Eastern-European accent, my waxer, Ivanka, says, “All gone.”
Her statement is quite ironic because as I stand up to re-clothe and realise something is missing. I look down; I am completely hairless.
I was utterly shocked because I was positive I'd said “bikini wax,” not “bald, I want to be completely bald like the day I was born.”
I was too traumatised to even say anything. My mind raced. Did I not specify that a tasteful landing strip would be great? Is this my fault? What was she thinking! How could she do this to me? Will it ever grow back? Am I going to be bald forever?
Ivanka had another client come in, and I did not want to make a scene because, quite frankly, she had not done anything wrong. With adrenaline pumping through my body I paid and left.
On my painful walk home, I was reminded of a scene from Will and Grace, when Grace says she prefers the “Belgian Wax” because she treats herself to a Belgian waffle after experiencing the pain of getting hair ripped out her skin. Needless to say, I headed for the nearest bar.
After the shock wore off, I was in less pain and realised that I felt strangely empowered. I had just endured probably the most painful event of my 23-year-old existence. I was actually glad about this miscommunication.
Maybe I’ve blocked it out, but who knows, perhaps I am a Brazilian convert now. Once I can walk normally I’ll let you know. I am sure Brazilian waxes are
mostly for insane people great, but I will definitely need some strong painkillers mental preparation before I imbibe next time.
Have you ever had a beauty treatment go... differently to what you had in mind? Tell us everything.