I had a completely new experience yesterday. Well, kind of completely new, in so much as I added an external participant in my previously "solo" endeavor.
I think that I have demonstrated that I am not a shy woman. What with my continuous and inadvertent breast flashing to half of New Hampshire, one would think that I would be perfectly comfortable and willing to do just about anything.
So I figured. What the hell. It was time to move to the professionals. Even with my Yoga, I was not able to contort into the positions it would require to do a bang up job.
I booked the Brazilian.
I mentally prepared for the Brazilian, much as I mentally prepare for the Pap Smear. Come on, I know you all do it. Are my legs shaved? Lotioned? Toes painted. God forbid we let our hoo-ha doctor see us with ashy legs and chipped toenails...not while they are eye to eye with our holy of holies ( Ha-Ha! a Pun!)
I took my ibuprofen prior to, as indicated by all the web sites on which I researched this procedure. This was to help with swelling and discomfort.I also gave myself a trim. I mean, yes, this was a professional, but there is no need to go in looking like I let everything go to hell.
I arrive and enter the spa. I maintain my air of casual aloofness. As if I expose my nether regions to strangers on a daily basis. That this is "no big deal".I announce to the thin, gorgeous receptionist that I am here for my "Brazilian". You know, me and the Brazilian? Old friends. Best Buddies.
I was escorted to the tastefully decorated waiting area, where I lounged on a chaise. I maintained my air of casual nonchalance. Why, I bet EVERYONE in this place has Brazilians!
The "Wax Professional" arrives. And speaks to me in French.
Fuck. Fuck, Fuckity, Fuck. I immediately tense up. I mumble, "Bon Jour, Hello" - which is my way of alerting all French speakers that I am not one of them. She smiles. She changes to English, heavily accented, but English.
Ok, remain calm. Be Cool. You can do this, Dawn.
I am escorted to a lovely room. And then the charade falls, the gig is up, the canary begins to sing. I am revealed as a Brazilian impostor. She asks "Have you had a Brazilian before?"
"Um, well no, well yes, I mean I have never had one done professionally, I've done them myself...but not very well, which is why I decided to just suck it up and have it done professionally, so I guess , kind of."
I stop myself. Hey-zeus, I am rambling. Her smile does not falter. She begins to explain the different versions of the Brazilian. The demi, the full, the front, the back. Do I want everything off? Do I want a strip left, a patch, a smiley face? Do I want the hair to remain on the lips, or all hair off the lips? I may have gone a little wild eyed at this juncture. Did she just ask me about my lips? Are we discussing my .....labia?
I smile.."Let's just do everything." Cause I can not discuss the benefits of hair on or off my "lips". I just can't. Not to mention that I am pretty sure I just agreed to bare my ass for internal waxing. But, I'm in it now. We might as well just go for the gusto.
Now. Here is where is gets REALLY funny.
She tells me to take off my skirt, but to leave my thong on. In my panic, I mishear her and assume that she wants me to take my underwear OFF and lay on the table. I mean, I don't want to seem prudish.
So I do it. I take everything off and lay down on the table. Midsection on, exposed. Trying to look as if I do this all the time.
And she sees me. In direct violation of her first order to keep my underwear ON, I am laying there panty free. She hesitates. She struggles for the question.
"You did not have any underwear on?"
I begin to ramble, apologizing at the same time. I thought you said..I didn't understand, I am SO SORRY. She hands me a paper thong, which I now most ungraciously try to wriggle my ass into, while still remaining in the prone "on the table" position.
I grow silent. I am the worst Brazilian wax client EVER. They are going to be talking about me in the "Spa break room" for ages: "And I told her to leave her underwear On, and when I came back she was laying there with her underwear OFF!"
The good news? My social shame had now made me forget what was about to happen next. I didn't even remember to tense up. For the waxing had begun.
It feels like what you expect. I had done this at home many times, so the sensation was not shocking. In fact, it was easier to take when you aren't doing it yourself - kind of like having someone else take out a splinter.
Until we got to the aforementioned "Lips". Wow. That was a unique pain. As I am not a "yeller", I merely got very wide eyed and took a very deep breath in. She was talking me through it, and was being quite soothing, but still! Ouch!
And here is my second tidbit of advice. In your "pre-wax" prep, Don't trim any hairs too short. For you will be rewarded for your effort by individual tweezing of these hairs which are not picked up by the wax. Each and Every One. And it will feel like an eternity.
By the time we got around to flipping over for the ass section of the waxing, I was filled with endorphins and way past caring. This chick had just spent 35 minutes staring, with a large powerful light, and Tweezers at my Mons Venus. My ass was not going to phase her in the least.
"Voila!", she announced. And we were done.
I got dressed, and exited the room. She met me at reception where I resisted the impulse to Hug her. I felt as if we had just been through battle, together. Instead, I shook her hand, and left her a hell of a good tip. And booked my next one.
Originally posted in October 17, 2006