Red Triangle

Because there is never great sadness in life without absurd silliness, I give this little vignette from my week.

After dropping La Chatte off at the vet's on that morning, I was scheduled for my "wax". Ahem. and eyebrow maintenance. That is actually how it is printed on the appointment slip.

9:30 a.m. Brazilian Wax
10:00 a.m. Eyebrows

The day before, the spa had called to say my regular esthetician was unavailable. Could they offer me an appointment with someone else?

Sure. Why not. There was no way I was missing an appointment again after my little episode this past winter where I'd missed nearly two months and the wax following that hiatus was how-shall-we-say? Bracing. If they started using Brazilian waxing as an interrogation method, we might get a lot more information.

So I show up for my appointment and am met by a small, round, grandmotherly looking woman. She is, it turns out, Russian.

And she does not care about my modesty. Nope. Not at all. Tells me to take off my undies - no attempt to give me a paper thong. She's here to do a job dammit and fiddling around with side to side thong moving only gets in her way.

Instead of being put off, I am comforted by this can-do attitude. I like a woman who has a job to do and is focused on it.

I zone out while she does her thing - and she does a good job. If one can consider themselves an "old hand" at the pubic waxing, I feel entitled. Very thorough.

But here is the moment when I crossed into new territory. We finish. She does the last "post lotion" application and asked me to take a look to make sure I am pleased.
This is, I thought, a type of polite moment - just like when the hair stylist is trying to show me the back side of my hair and I can't really see - but I am going to make noises like I am excited or pleased. You know. Social niceties.

What I didn't expect was the mirror in a place where I said "No thank you" to a mirror when I was pushing Emily out on the day of her birth.

Why hello, Labia. Long time, no see. You look.....Good? Nice? Hair free?

"Oh!", I say. "Looks Great" - as the mirror hangs over my nether region.

She moves the mirror so I can get a new angle. Dear Christ.

"You did a Great Job!", I say with as much enthusiasm I can muster.

I sit up, smiling and nodding and begin to get myself reassembled. She smiles and nods and begins to tidy up.

Perastroyka, bitches.