WAX ON

*WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART*

Today I experienced THE ultimate womanhood rite of passage. Yes, friends, for the first time ever, I done got waxed. And let me just say HOLYMOTHERFUCKINGJESUSCOCKSUCKINGBITCHOUCH. That shit is painful. THAT SHIT IS PAINFUL.

THAT. SHIT. IS. PAINFUL.

That being said, it's also totally worth it. And, let me tell you, I now feel like a real woman. If my ladyparts can withstand that, hell, they can handle anything. Ahem. I also got my 'brows waxed for the first time. I've been putting it off for as long as possible and I finally figured, enough is enough. Time to clean that shit up.

Now that I'm on my third glass of wine, here is a bit of play-by-play for your inquiring minds in case you've never had this particular experience yourself. I was led to a cozy table in the middle of a tastefully decorated room with soothing music and aromatic oiliness in the air and, for a moment, I thought I was about to get a massage. I believe my mind was desperately trying to trick itself out of the realization of impending pubic hair pillaging. I'm a bit of a wuss when it comes to people doing potentially painful shit to me (since I was a kid, I've always imagined the worst happening in every situation, resulting in my freak and untimely imaginary death), so I went in there nervous as a mail-order bride waiting to meet her new pudgy, bald, alcoholic hubby. I told my waxer, Jill, this, and she tried to talk me through the process to calm me down. I kept waiting for her to offer me a glass (bottle?) of wine, for godsakes. Sadly, she never did.

The first few rips were actually not that bad. She was working with the outermost and thinnest patch of hair at this point. The entire time I babbled like the lonely old crazy lady sitting next to you during her first airplane flight ever, and I remarked that it wasn't so bad. I told her one friend of mine had said that nothing can prepare me for this kind of pain and that another friend said it didn't hurt at all, so I really didn't know what to expect. I began to relax a bit, which was the wrong thing to do. What I should have done was hold on to my fucking hat. Because then she did a thicker strip of hair closer in. HOLYMOTHERFUCKINGJESUSCOCKSUCKINGBITCHOUCH.

And it continued on like that. Then the tweezing. I remember mumbling something to Jill about "god, the things us women do to ourselves" and how I was fantasizing about making MP get something equally as painful waxed. Jill did mention that some men get Brazilians. Anyway, the tweezing. Imagine a burn victim. Now imagine taking a sharp object and scraping it along said burn victim's mutilated, still oozing burned skin. OK, that's gross and I'm obviously exaggerating, but plucking hairs from red, sensitive skin that's just had patches of hair ripped from it hurts like a fucking bitch. All in all, it wasn't really that bad, but toward the end, it was all I could do to keep myself from crying out, "Enough, Jillyoufuckingbitch! I don't care what it looks like. Please, just fucking stop!" Hoo boy. It was fun in a way, though, and it's something I can now cross off the list of life experiences. Yes, I am a better person for having endured the waxing of my pubic hair. Now, I can conquer anything. Bring it on, bitches!

Sorry for the swearing but, frankly, I think I've fucking earned it after the day I've had!

And, now, I'm off to admire my goods in the mirror, spread some aloe on my red skin, and head out for some cocktails. 'Night.