
Image via The Shitastrophy
On the eve of my wedding anniversary, I decided upon the perfect gift to wow my man.
I called my local salon and booked an appointment for a Brazilian bikini wax.
This was virgin territory for me, and I was a little concerned. I was counseled to take three Advil and drink a half glass of wine. I downed my pain relievers, swigged some wine and added a generous amount of Lidocaine (a topical numbing agent).
I got this, I thought. Until I didn’t.
When I arrived for my afternoon tryst, I met Lani, who would soon know more about my vagina than my gynecologist. She was about 20 years old, petite and adorable. Fantastic.
Could I not get the 60-year-old that makes me feel good about my Jewel Box? Where is Bertha or Prudence?
I followed Lani to the back room, entering into nervous first date chit-chat with her.
I felt she should know a little bit about me, since we were about to be intimately acquainted in a matter of minutes. I am a Libra, I like putting my feet in warm sand and drinking ice cold beer on the beach. She nodded and led me to the room of torture, where sh*t was about to get real. She left the room and I disrobed and lay down on the table with my bits barely covered under the baby-size washcloth I was given.
Could I get a hand towel at least? Or how about a beach blanket? WTF am I gonna do with such a freaking small scrap of fabric?
The great Silky Mit disaster of 2014
Lani came back in and began to check the wax; stirring and pulling it out of the jar to ensure it was the right elasticity and temperature. Happy with her materials, she started work on my lady love garden.
"I am going to work in small sections and move as fast as possible to get this over quickly for you, OK?"
"Um... OK," I stammered, because seriously, who wants this done slowly?
"There is no way to make this hurt any less, so tell me if you can't take it or need a break."
How bad can this be? I thought. I've had some pretty painful moments in life and I survived. This is gonna be fine, she's just exaggerating. I quickly learned she wasn't.
I panic at the salon every time
Lani positioned my left leg to mimic a flamingo. I was splayed out, my hoo-ha front and center, with hot wax being spooned onto it. Then, the paper went on. She rubbed back and forth to make it adhere, then pulled the paper off.