I am naive. I've said it before and I have no problem stating it again on my personal trait resume. So, with summer right around the corner, I decided to go ahead and wax the area that some people have Vajazzled. I have waxed before, so I was mentally and physically prepared for the submissiveness and pain. I like to make these somewhat uncomfortable situations - like the yearly pelvic exam - somewhat less awkward by talking through them. I am a nervous rambler, so when put into these precarious situations, I tend to discuss everything from the weather to what toppings I prefer on my pizza to vajazzling...all in a matter of three minutes. I think it puts me at ease, and probably makes my captive audience member wonder "WTF did she smoke before she came in here??" In any case, there I was lying in my gauze spa-issued undies waiting for the liquid hot magma to be applied to my nether-regions and asking my 20-something professional if she has vajazzled anyone or had any customers with vajazzling. I was oddly proud of the fact that this woman "in the know" had not heard of the trend, and I was able to educate her on the basic points of the ummmmm.....art. She said "speaking of trends, have you ever had a brazilian?" The teacher becomes the student. "No, but I've heard of it....I mean, I don't know the finer points, but I know it is popular." And I was not lying. I have learned my lesson in trying to sound or appear knowledgeable in areas where I know absolutely nothing. My faux intelligence gets me into trouble. She said "well, it is perfect for swimsuit season because it takes waxing to the next level. We can definitely do that today." That frightened me a bit "What do you mean by THE NEXT LEVEL? Like, the wax is hotter than the 400 degree stuff you are spreading on me right now?" The mere thought of it made me clench muscles and sweat in places that usually don't do either. What if it is NOT wax that they use, but the brazilian requires a blow-torch and protective eyewear? I can already smell burning flesh and torched hair. She just laughed and said "No, we just wax a little lower so that those unattractive hairs don't peek out of the bottom of your swimsuit. WHEW! Ok, sold. "Sure." I said. I am a complete sucker for the up-sell. With that, she says "I am just going to go grab one more thing before we start then." Oh crap. Here comes the blow torch. I bet she went to get the shackles and a lead apron for me. What the hell have I gotten myself into? She comes back with.....a waiver. Ummm...I think that made me even more scared. She just said that is is standard policy, etc, etc, etc. Fine. Here is my nervous chicken scratch signature. What the hell did I need a waiver for? It is hair removal for god sakes, not limb dismemberment. Well, as we proceeded, I clearly understood why we needed a waiver. Because I was violated. Violated in ways that you only read about in the news (and those people are prosecuted and sent to prison for very very long time) She put wax in places that I personally have never even SEEN, so I could care less if I even have hair there. Now that I think about it, those places never even have seen the light of day or have access to a healthy amount of oxygen...can those places even GROW HAIR? To access said places, there was the "Princess pose"....ummmm...I am no princess, but I am pretty damn sure that any princess that sat like that would be banished from her kingdom. No question. Then she said "Ok, now I need you on all fours." Oh GOD OH GOD OH GOD!!! College flashbacks. Did my husband put you up to this? Am I being taped for some sick internet video? Then she applied liquid hot wax to a place that if it ever works again it will be a medical miracle. This place, in the WAY WAY southern hemisphere of my being, shriveled up and crawled inside my body and I don't blame it if it never comes back out. Until then, I will have to poop through a straw. And the pain!! Oh the burning. Get me a freaking fire extinguisher because my poor little labia are on freaking fire! Can I see that wax strip please so I can separate my skin from it, put it in a baggie and see if it can be reattached??? If it hurts that badly being removed, that means that nature meant for it to just stay-put. Oh my ever loving GOD! Give me stick to bite on until I can have feeling back...wait...nevermind. I don't think I want feeling back. Simple hair removal has in fact turned into dismemberment of my tender petunia.
Bottom line is (no pun intended here) if I have hair in those places, I don't believe it has ever bothered anyone. I apologize to my tender areas. I should have left well-enough alone. My husband never complained about unruly shrubbery, and he would let me know because he does appreciate meticulous landscaping if you know what I mean. So, now that the tumble weed that I never knew I had has been taken care of, I need to go invest in one of those stand-up scooters...a Segway. Because I will never be able to sit down again. I am writing this with vicodin and an unhealthy amount of Ny-Quil in my system. I am thinking of crushing up a vicodin, making a poultice out of it, and rubbing it on the area you never even talk about to your most trusted medical professional. If any of you have done this and come out on the other side, you are a better woman than I. Does it grow back? My fear now is that the myth will be true, once you remove hair, it grows back darker and thicker than before. Have you ever read the Moostache book?? That will be me...trying to shove, wrap, tie, curl and twist pubic hair into artful displays hoping that no one will notice the nightmare in my crotch. Because I am NOT going to Brazil again.