On occasion, I will go get a wax. I’m talking about a punani wax. Sometimes you just have to do it, especially if you’re going to go on a tropical holiday which I did recently, or, if you’re feeling generous, sleep with someone for the first time.
I think everyone should neaten up their nether regions, and this goes for boy nether regions also, and whether that’s done by a fine toothed comb and a pair of scissors or by some masochistic bitch with a pot of hot wax and a pair of tweezers is your call. This is what I don’t appreciate:
Being told to ‘make yourself comfortable’. What the fuck? You’re about to pour hot wax on my VAGINA and you’re telling me to get comfortable. How comfortable am I supposed to be here? This is the same useless sentence doctors say before pap smears. You’re about to have what feels like an umbrella being opened up your lady bits and you’re being told to ‘just relax’. Sure thing. Because a plastic scraper up my coochie is what I do to feel relaxed all the time.
However, this is not as bad as being offered a paper g-string. Uh huh. Before my last wax my beauty therapist (let’s call her Tiffany) asked me if I would care for a paper g-string. Why? Apparently this makes Tiffany’s clients feel more comfortable. How is a paper g-string, of all things, supposed to make you feel comfortable? And what is the point? You’re about to be spread eagled in front of a female wielding hot wax and tweezers and a paper g-string is supposed to make you feel better? What the fuck is that about? How does this work? What does this do?
My favourite part is after the wax, when your eyes are streaming with tears as a result of pubic hair being pulled out by the roots, and Tiffany comes after you with pointy little tweezers to ‘get the strays and even things out.’ If you thought the wax was bad, try having tweezers pluck out hairs one by one on skin that’s still burning and a small blonde girl who is a good 10 years younger then yourself smiling at you telling you she’s a perfectionist. Well that’s just great sweetheart. But I hardly think the next lucky guy who’s gonna get a glimpse of this wax is going to compliment me on the symmetry of the hair left over. It’s seriously like they get out a spirit level to make sure that it’s even. I once had Tiffany tell me she’s not letting me leave until it was perfect as she would be too embarrassed for me to have a wax that was less then perfect. WHAT. THE. FUCK. Who the FUCK is going to see it that’s going to judge the remaining landing strip and make sure it’s at perfect right angles?
Any girl who says she waxes for herself and not the benefit of a lover is lying. LYING. NO ONE would put up with the pain and the inane chit chat of an 18 year old solariumed blonde for the sake of feeling good about themselves. No one.
Sophie Was A Dog 