I’ve never waxed a thing in my life. I’ve always wanted to but could never stand to grow my hair for the required three weeks of Amazon-bush-length that is required to do so. I usually back down after two weeks and whip out the razor and start shaving.
I finally managed to tough through a long enough growth period – mostly because since I got my tattoo I haven’t been swimming – and went for my first ever bikini wax this afternoon. I opted for the Brazilian because I’ve always been the “go big or go home” type of person and if I’m going to let someone pour hot wax on my genitals and haul out the hairs from the roots – I might as well do it right. A lot of spas don’t do Brazilians and I could totally understand why. I felt as though I should buy the waxer a drink or maybe put a down payment on a new home for her after our very intimate experience. I think my leg was even over one of her shoulders at some point – but by then, I was so blinded by the pain, I didn’t even notice.
To say that it hurt is by far an understatement. I nearly kicked her in the face at one point because I thought I couldn’t take it any more. “You’re sweating quite a bit,” she tells me while pouring half a bottle of baby powder onto my crotch. Sweating? More like dying lady! What us ladies put ourselves through for the sake of vanity is incredible.
Was it worth it? My underwear are stuck to me right now, I have hardened bits of wax in my bum and I can’t walk properly but yes, it was worth it. I’ve been told by avid waxers that the first time is your worst time and it only gets easier the more often you do it. To quote the waxer lady, “By the third time, opening your legs will be about as painful as opening your mouth.” I guess someone who hauls pubic hair out for a living develops a candid way of speaking over time.
