Wax On, Wax Off

There comes a time in every young woman’s life when she needs to find the courage within herself to rip off the bandaid. And by bandaid, I mean wax strip. Like a below-the-belt Bat Mitzvah, your first bikini wax signifies the transition from girl to woman. And I figured what better time to take the plunge than before my college spring break trip. If my body could endure a 72 hour binge drinking bender in the beating sun, then it could also endure a little wax and a lot of body hair. So I booked the appointment for a wax at my local salon to make a quick pit stop to Brazil before my trip to Havasu.
The bravery coursed through my veins after I hung up with the receptionist, and I began associating my bikini wax with all the crazy times I was going to have on my trip. But my bravery fleeted me only hours later as I walked on wobbly legs to my car; it was the same nervous feeling I’d had before I got my belly button pieced, only this time the piercing pain would be between my thighs. I realized not only would this potentially be the most painful experience of my 19 years of living, but also the first time I’d be exposing my vataylor to a woman who had gone to beauty school instead of medical school. But this was something I had to do; razor burn and stubble were two things I would not be packing for my spring break trip.
I wobbled into the salon with wide eyes and a gaunt expression. The receptionist at the main desk directed me downstairs to the spa level where I sat my shaky nerves on a luxurious couch. Moments later, my waxer came out to greet me, then led me into a private room for me to take my pants off in. Perhaps I would have felt more at home if the waxing tables had been lofted like frat house bunk beds.
“I’m a little nervous,” I underexaggerated, “this is my first bikini wax.”
“Don’t be nervous! It’s a little painful, but when it’s done you’re gonna be like ‘why haven’t I been getting these all along?’” She was nice, I knew my chaste hair follicles were in good hands. “With a Brazilian wax, it’s normally best to take off everything.”
So with a deep breath, I unbuttoned my pants and pulled off both shorts and boyshorts. I felt like I was losing my virginity. I laid down on the table as the waxer snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then prepped her stick with wax. She spread the wax onto my skin and placed on the first strip. Paralyzed with fear, I laid there on the bed completely stiff.
“Take a deep breath,” she instructed.
I took as deep of a breath as my mildly abused lungs could hold, and on my exhale I felt the first rip. The pain was sharp but brief. In a bizarre way, it felt good. I could feel my bikini line being cleansed, and that was a cause worth suffering for. She pulled off strip after strip until I eventually became numb to the pain. My body was in a deep state of meditation as I felt my hair follicles being detoxed.
“Alright, all done.”
Resuscitated from my relaxation, I sprung up from the table and redressed.
“Thank you so much!” I told her as a strange adrenaline pumped through my veins.
I paid then walked to my car with a brand new pep in my step. I felt reborn, and was officially a waxing convert. And most of all, I was ready to go on spring break as a new woman.

1 comment:

  1. i've waxed before, but it hurts something chronic! i dont think i'd do what you did...
    great posts! keep them coming :-)