Last month, TheBee,
Oh, as a warning... men, this may be a little.... personal...
....anyway, she mentioned her roommate exclaimed upon seeing her in the shower, "HOLY BRAZILIAN!!", remarking, of course, on her wax on her personal parts.
I did it myself.
In a prior post, I've stated my photo is next to the definition of oblivious. I don't reconise people, I walk blindly into streets, down stairwells, a man said, "Hello, Quin." *using my real name* in the 'A' train station on Monday, and by the time my head whipped around.. he was gone.
I've no idea who it was.
I also don't RTFM. That's Read The Fucking Manual. Why bother when you can blunder your way though trying to make things work? Besides, it adds mordu de l'excitation to my otherwise beige life.
It was 1997.
I was newly divorced.
Although I had the kids 99% of the time, I liked to pretend I was single and desirable, and..smoking hot.
I did this by not passing reflective surfaces.
The new thing was waxing one's personal areas... "Ah-HA!", I said to myself. "I'm going to try this cutting edge style."
Self said, "Are you insane? It's not cutting edge, it's putting hot wax on your gagootz, and ripping the hair off...it's having a STRANGER look at you...down there."
I'd forgotten about that part... the stranger looking down there. I'm pretty modest... in high school, I carried a note from my mother that gave me the longest period in the history of women, thus avoiding PE. If I'd not had C-Sections, I'd have made my doctor wear two masks... one over her eyes. She's one of my best friends, and I hate the exam thing, because she'll chat on about kids and where are we going for lunch... I stare at the ceiling and offer it up for the unbaptised children who have no place to go now that Limbo is lost to them.
Self won, and I went to the local beauty supply place and bought myself a waxing kit. The kids were at their father's house, I had the weekend to myself, and I was ready to join the world.
Read the instructions? Of course I did...
Heat wax to melting point... spread evenly.....apply muslin strips... blah.. blah....blah.... turn page over... blah....watch tv.... blah.... pull off strips against the growth of hair.
Most of it.
Some of it.
A few lines.
I used the cute wooden spreader thing, and thickly coated that area, and I don't mean the Brazilian area... it was more the along the thigh meets body area....and firmly patted both sides with the muslin strips from one side of my body to the other...following the curve of my leg on my body.
You heard me ladies, BOTH sides. At the same time.
Then, I leaned over the counter and read a book while I watched TV... and let the wax cool.
I let it cool.
Somewhere in the blah blah blah part was the don't let it cool part.
When it was cool and hardened, I stood up, firmly grasped the lower edge of right muslin strip which at this point was adhered to my skin tight and formfitting, like a cross-dressers girdle and riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiped that baby off.
When I came to, I was lying on the floor, whimpering in pain. In my left hand was a strip of muslin that contained hardened wax, my gagootz hair, bits of my flesh and blood. I then looked at my left side, and realised....
I had to remove....it.
Yes, there it was....mocking me... sucked up to my skin like a second skin....waiting. "Pull me off", it taunted. "It's so going to hurt."
Where was the Marquis de Sade when you needed him most?
My self said, "I told you to rea..." at this point, it realised it was best to shut up, or suffer my going to a psychiatrist's office and finally getting just the one personality.
I stood there... do I call 911? "Yes, I need some blind, ugly paramedics to come remove my self-waxing linen strips from my left personal area, please."
Do I go to the hospital? "We need a blowtorch, stat." and then suffer the indignity of hearing laughter from behind the closed curtain?
I could wait two weeks, and let it grow out a bit, wearing baggy shorts and walking a bit straddle legged, then clipping away the offending linen strip.
I did what any self respecting woman would do.... I got a bottle of tequila, some tiny scissors, and ran a hot bath... and I sat there all night...soaking, clipping, drinking...and slowly pulling.
To this day, I have scars on one side.... I will not show you because I am modest.
I'll just journal about the experience instead.