This post was originally published on June 8, 2008.
If you are male, I implore you to click away. Dad? Travis? Wayward
uncle that has come for your annual page view? Please go. This is not
the post for you. I will be discussing delicate areas you do not want
to know about. You have been warned.
For the past four years or so, I have worn a skirtini for my poolside ensemble. (I’m sure you can imagine my dismay when I realized a skirtini
is a bathing suit, not a drink.) That little skirt hides quit a bit: the
last of the pregnancy fat hiding on my thighs, the last of the
pregnancy fat hiding on my butt, and, yes, the fact that I don’t like
to shave north of my knees. I don’t like to shave, period. This year,
though, I figured I would go for the bikini wax. You know, as a treat
to myself. Or a blog post at the very least.
“Hello, Lisa. My name is Melanie. I’ve never done this before so you’ll have to tell me what I need to do.”
Innocuous enough, I suppose, but it was the beginning of what may be the most uncomfortable 20 minutes I’ve ever had.
“No problem,” Lisa breezed. “Just put on these disposable panties and I’ll be right back.”
She handed me a plastic package with the same dimensions of a tampon. Because I am really a 12-year-old boy, I squeezed all the air from one end of the package to the other until I heard a satisfying *pop* then tried to find the hole so I could liberate my transitional panties. I could not find the hole.
I tried to use my fingernails to make another hole. No luck.
Finally, worried that I was taking entirely too long to separate the panties from their plastic confines, I used my teeth to tear open the package–because I was in a spa and I’m klassy like that.
What I was left with was a piece of elastic and two pieces of tissue paper that were each the width of three of my fingers. It reminded me of the time we went to Zumanity in Las Vegas and we saw two 350lb women in see-through body stockings handing out chocolate-covered strawberries. Why? Because I was pretty sure I was going to look just as good in this flimsy excuse of a g-string as those women in Vegas did. Even though no one would see me but Lisa, I was mortified. It just ain’t fittin, it just ain’t fittin! (Props to you if you can name the movie, the character, and the situation.)
Lisa finally reappeared and asked what we were doing. I just wanted the traditional bikini wax–no lightning bolts, landing strips, or countries for me, thanks.
So she got to work. Or tried to. She had to stop, get the scissors, and trim. Y’all. I told you I hate to shave. It had been at least four years since I had ventured into this territory. I was mortified for the second time in five minutes. This was going very well, indeed.
Lisa was finally able to find some skin on which to paste the warm wax. She suggested I pull the skin taught around it so it would be easier (less painful?) for her to pull off.
First strip! Ugh.Similar to having the brows waxed. Not the worst thing I’ve ever encountered.
Second strip! Hey. I thought you just did that part. At least it didn’t really hurt this time.
Third strip! Holy hell! What the feck are you doing to me? Is that blood? Is this payback for having to trim before you scar me for life? Please, for the love of Pete, stop!
In her sweetest voice, Lisa asked, “Are you still doing OK?”
“Thank you, sir!” I choked out. “May I have another?”
She complied.
I had my first bikini wax and possibly my last. For the next four years, anyway.
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
Oh chilihead. You are so adventurous. So, I’m wondering, did you return to the scene of the crime?
I had a girlfriend that had a “landing strip” done and she says the same, it is not for the weak of flesh.
Oy gevalt!
As a matter of fact, I have returned. And I even got my legs waxed this year. But, alas, I’m done with spending money on hurting myself.
It’s back to razors for me this year. And a skirtini.
Ah, yes. I remember my first bikini wax. It was in some creepy basement. Teenage boys were running around upstairs. I was laying around in my underwear downstairs. It was HORRIBLE.
Oh good heavens girls. I just love it over here.
The quote has to be from Mammy on “Gone With the Wind” right??
Oh, and was it about her red taffetta petticoat?
I have always been too chicken to try the wax. Though now it seems a little less scary. Maybe this year will be the year…and maybe not.