Today I actually paid a stranger to rip my hair out from the root. Not only that, I tipped her for it. Something has gone terribly wrong with my life.
Somewhere along the line, someone decided that sophisticated women should take care of their bikini lines. And by “take care of” I mean eliminate the hair that belongs to that incredibly sensitive area in the most painful way possible. Maybe not THE most painful way, but I can’t think of a more unpleasant method of hair removal than waxing. Maybe burning it off while someone punches you in the face would be more painful… who knows?
Anyway. I am a sophisticated woman and so a bikini wax was inevitable. I’m not sure sophisticated women wear Hello Kitty Band-Aids and put skull and crossbones temporary tattoos on their forearms, but I am working on it.
According to the Women That Know, sophisticated ladies have professionals neaten up their private areas. Carrie is a Woman That Knows. That is why I asked her advice about the bikini wax thing. She was helpful in telling me where to go and who to ask for. Her most helpful advice though, was to go to the liquor store across the street from the salon and wash down some Advil with a mixed beverage in the parking lot before going in.
In my anxiety, which I think was entirely legitimate given the situation, I had maybe more Advil and mixed drink than Carrie had in mind. Also I am a lightweight when it comes to that sort of thing. Thus, I was extremely mellow when I walked into the salon and asked for Jen. I wasn’t irritated at all when I had to wait a long time for her to finish a facial either- the haircut books just seemed so awesome this evening. I almost wanted Jen to have a turn at the waiting thing because I was only half way through the celebrity makeover section when she called me in.
The waxing room was deceptively soothing. The lights were dim and there was gentle music playing softly in the hallway. I explained that this was my first waxing and she asked if I was getting a bikini or a Brazilian wax. I was nowhere near brave enough for the Brazilian yet and so I shyly requested the regular bikini wax and instantly felt less sophisticated.
Jen gave me see-through panties to put on and then left for me to change into them which seemed weird to me. What is the point of privacy if it is only to put on transparent undergarments? I thought it was already understood that the whole situation was pretty invasive.
The waxing itself was as painful as expected. I felt more sober than ever and pitied my poor body.
In trying to distract myself from the burning rip of the waxing cloth, I tried to think peaceful thoughts about God and the universe and things like that. I think the new agey music brought that on. Philosophizing during a bikini wax really adds some interesting perspective to your inner discussions on morality. I thought about the Golden Rule and suddenly, everyone seemed just a little more doomed. If doing unto others as we would have done unto ourselves is the standard of moral perfection, I hope that “Others” are kinder to themselves than I am to myself because at that moment I was having done unto me a whole world of discomfort and was feeling ready to return the favor unto someone else, namely Jen at that moment.
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