The Bikini Wax of Regret
Oh, no…oh God no
I have just confirmed two things. That I am not into S&M. And… if you are going to experience pain, it’s best to take a Quaalude (remember those?!), a Xanax, or maybe even an epidural beforehand. Yes. Have that bulletproof coffee. Perhaps a dozen donuts. You will soon learn that you are neither bulletproof nor that sugar or your panoply of readily accessible drugs will do anything to prevent the onslaught of FIRE that occurs when you choose to have hair ripped out of your nether region. Hair. RIPPED OUT. And yes I did just say “choose”. WTF?
You see, I went to get my usual done. My upper leg wax that I get every three to six months. It’s a bit painful, but bearable for the result — dreamy, smooth skin. I hadn’t had a bikini wax in years and thought …why not treat myself to both? Treat. Yeah…I DID just say that. So, I go to my usual hair removal artiste and say that I want a little bit more taken off this time. Note my use of those three words… A. Little. Bit. I pointed to the area. She nodded. We communicated. Or, so I thought. Apparently, a little bit means something very different to me than it does to my anesthesiologist. I mean aesthetician. I so could have used an anesthesiologist, though… Oh, my…yes. I could have. It would have been so lovely to sleep through THE PAIN.
