Wax On Wax Off
I finally worked up my nerve to get my legs and underarms waxed. Actually, a bikini wax, not so I can wear a bikini, mind you. I made my husband do my homework and he found me the salon. He went out of town for 2 weeks on business and left me cash to go get waxed. Since I had to work up my nerve, and it took me all week too, I was glad he was out of town. I didn’t need him nosing around asking me questions. Friday night I left a message at the salon. Saturday morning, while I was just getting ready, the phone rang; it was the salon asking me if I wanted an appointment. The lady, who called, sounded like Marilyn McCoo, who sang, “Wedding Bell Blues.” Such clarity. Beautiful! Anyway, because she sounded like Marilyn McCoo, I felt close to her and shared all my fears…Is it going to hurt? (It is!) Should I wear a swimsuit? (Doesn’t matter.) If I don’t wear a swimsuit, will the waxer see me naked? (Pretty much.) Will the waxer see my C-section scar?? (Turns out, she’ll comment that it’s not the worst she’s ever seen.) I have shear hair on my thighs, will shear hair wax? ETC!! What I really wanted to know was “Is this going to be like the first day of girl’s PE, in the 7th grade, when we all had to take showers together?” I just didn’t have the nerve to ask. The lady, I’ll call ‘Marilyn’ was so kind, I knew I could make the appointment. I felt so comfortable, that when she asked me if I wanted a Brazilian wax and I said, “Sure!!” CAN YOU IMAGINE??? Having realized what I had said, I kind of backtracked. I wasn’t exactly sure what exactly that kind of a wax that exactly entailed, but I thought I had a pretty good idea. I think ‘Marilyn’ could hear the panic in my voice and started going over which parts of my body should be waxed and which parts to leave alone. So, another shower (my neighbor, Wendy, is a labor and delivery nurse and once told me about women with stinky undercarriages, so I keep that in mind) and an hour later, I was there. Great hair day, by the way.
As I walked in, Marilyn had her back to me, as she was on the phone. She was a tiny thing and didn’t dress like the other ladies working there. Kind of a cute Brawny paper towel look. I went with the owner into a room she told me to take my pants off and set my bum on this little blue towel that was lying on this table and put this other little blue towel over my….well, C-section scar, for lack of a better word.
Immediately, the waxer made me feel right at home. (I guess if you can feel at home without your pants off and someone coming at you with a Popsicle stick full of hot wax, I felt at home.) She told me it was going to hurt. It did. I’m not sure how to describe that pain either. I found if I kept her talking, she made me feel more relaxed, because I like to chat. We were having a wonderful time. I wondered if the store was a franchise or if she owned only that store. Instead of asking that, I thought I’d ask if her husband works with her, then I could go from there (this is the part where you don’t want to figure out my logic). So instead of simply asking if her husband worked with her, I asked, “Does your husband do his thing here?” As in 1970’s sayings like, “I do my own thing.” I probably shouldn’t have said, “thing,” because she answered, “I wax his scrotum and butt.” Which caused me to sit straight up. She was going on and on in great detail. I had to grab her arm and explain that I just wanted to know where he worked. I have no idea what her answer was, but I’m still hoping I never run into him…ever! I know more about her husband than my own, I’m afraid, but must admit, I am a little curious now.
We finished, it wasn’t bad at all. I’m sure it was the chatting, that got me through the whole ordeal. I got dressed and went out to pay and ‘Marilyn’ was off the phone and she had a very sparse beard and I thought “Her co-workers need to wax her face for her.” Then, I looked at her chest, and I realized that Marilyn was a man! A man, with whom I’d discussed my private C-section scar and the hair on my thighs….my thighs!! I had asked him if I should bring a swimsuit (boy he must have thought I was some yokel from the hills)…great speaking voice aside, I let HIM almost talk me into a Brazilian wax!! We discussed hair on bums (did you know that’s part of the Brazilian wax?…well it is)! I was dying a thousand deaths; I even forgot about my good hair day and let all my self-esteem go right out the window. I was trying to act casual, like I have these conversations with men all the time. But I don’t. Hey….I did not pass any gas in front of my husband, the first year we were married. I am a very private person (well, I was) and now a man knows everything about me. I just remembered I’d told him it had been two weeks since I had shaved under my arms. Ohmygosh, how did he keep from giggling?
I wrote myself a limerick for the occasion:
I decided to go get a wax.
Was nervous, but could finally relax.
My legs I will show,
If there’s a secret, you’ll know.
BECAUSE APPARENTLY, I’LL TELL ANYONE WHO ASKS!