The Waxing Story...

Surprisingly enough, pouring fire hot wax on your crotch and having a stranger stick paper to it, then rip it off is not that awesome...

I was in my early 20s, playing house with a jerkface I'd met in college, when I decided that I needed a vacation. We booked a trip to the Carribean for the following month, and I made a list of things I needed to get done.

1. Lose 15 pounds.
2. Buy new swimsuit.
3. Go tanning.
4. Order more contacts.
5. Wax the area.

Then I thought: That list isn't too bad, and I have plenty of time! I am so ahead of the game for once! Maybe I should just take care of everything right now...then I will be done. Hmm...nah! No sense in wasting today...I can do it tomorrow.

When there was only about 3 days left until we were supposed to leave for our trip, I consulted my list again.

1. Lose 15 pounds.---Shit. I stepped on the scale. Up 2 pounds. Ok...so maybe I wasn't going to be losing any weight before this trip. Oh well...too late for that one.

2. Buy new swimsuit.---This is one thing I HAD taken care of! My new swimsuit was on its way. (Too bad the suit that came the next day covered about half of each nipple and only one butt cheek...I ended up packing one I already had.)

3. Go tanning.---Easy. Done. Going to a designated location to nap for 20 minutes was NOT a problem for me.

4. Order more contacts.---CRAP. Without contacts or glasses, I had to rely on my other senses to help me out. You know how they say, 'when you lose one sense, your other ones become heightened?' Yeah...that wasn't the case with me...I just hoped I could make the 2-week disposable pair that I'd been wearing for the last 6 months last just one more week!

5. Wax the area.---'Ok.' I had thought. 'I'll just get out the phonebook and see if I can get in somewhere. No biggie.'

I was wrong. It was a biggie. Every salon in a 20 mile radius was booked solid for the next week. I was contemplating Nair or a razor as I listened to the echo-y sound of the phone ringing at the 20th place I'd called that day. This one was it. It had to be! It was the last place listed that was relatively nearby.

"Oriental Foot Spa. How I hep you?"

"Uh...hi, do you guys do bikini waxing there?"

"Ya, we do was. You wan bwazillion?"

"Um, sure. Ok."

"Ok...you come now?"

"Oh! Now? Well, um...ok, yes. I think I can. What are your cross streets?"

She told me where they were located, and I wasn't surprised that it was an area I wasn't familiar with (I had just moved to Arizona a few months prior to this). I mapquested it and was about to head out the door when visions of the last bikini wax I'd had came back in short, vivid bursts. I better take a Vicodin...last time it really stung.

When I turned off the highway, I immediately noticed an increase in grafitti and bars on the windows. I looked to the left and saw three liquor stores and a pawn shop. I looked to the right and I saw a 'Check into Cash' and a Kmart that had apparently gone under although there were still several shopping carts rolling haphazardly through the abandoned parking lot.

I consulted my directions and pulled into the next strip mall I saw. I scanned the store fronts. Psychic Readings; WIC; another 'Check into Cash'?!; Family Dollar; Aha! Oriental Foot Spa! There it was. I'll admit it, I had some reservations about giving my business to an establishment that used the word "Oriental" to describe anything but a rug....BUT like I said, there was a time crunch.

I parked my car in front of the salon and noticed two teenage boys hanging out in front of the Water & Ice store drinking beverages out of brown paper bags. I stole furtive glances in their direction as I hussled in. I pretended not to notice when they both lifted their drinks in my direction as if to say "Cheers!"

I stepped into an anteroom that had been painted a flamingo pink. There were paintings on the wall that moved when you moved. A waterfall scene became a picnic in the forest. A tiger came jumping toward you, then became a rabbit. Bamboo seeds suddenly sprouted into tall plants. Below the pictures were rows and rows of brightly colored nailpolish. In the corner of the room was a large fountain that had tunnels filtering water into three separate pools of cloudy water.

I approached a glass counter in the middle of the room, craning my neck to see if anyone was working. I was studying their menu of services when a middle aged asian man approached me and yelled, "Why you here?" I told him about the waxing appointment. So quietly that I could barely hear him, he let out three long, low sounds, followed by one high pitched, "Nu-YA!"

A pleasant faced older lady appeared behind the man. He turned around and they appeared to be arguing. Although I couldn't understand what they were saying, I could see their facial expressions and "fuck you" seems to be spoken in every language.

Abuptly, the lady (I know what you're thinking..."The lady? What was her name, Erin?" To which I must reply, "NFC!!!" translation for those unfamiliar with my personal acronyms: NO FUCKING CLUE...Everyone needs a name so I guess I will call her "Happy"). So anyway, Happy turned to me, smiled sweetly and said, "Ok...you weady?" I nodded and followed her. As we walked back, I turned to her and said, "Oh, um, I was thinking. I know I said 'Brazillian' on the phone, but I think I'll just do a regular bikini wax."

She looked at me, laughed, and shook her head. I wasn't sure what this meant, and I probably should have asked for clarification at that point, but I was starting to feel a little nervous. It's true, when this lady was standing, the top of her head was right at the level of my belt buckle, but she had attitude. It was intimidating!

We walked into a small room with a long narrow table that was covered in the same kind of sheet they have at the doctor's office. She pointed at it and said, "Ok. I go now, but I be back. TWO MINUTES! You take pants off. Lay. Wait." I thought of at least fifteen questions and waited for her to give me an opportunity to ask them...but it never came. I was alone before I knew Happy was even thinking about leaving.

I looked around for the paper underwear most salons usually provided and I discovered that I had been provided with Oriental Foot Spa's equivalent: two papertowels taped together. (This was about the tenth red flag that had been thrown in my face, but like I said, I was under a time crunch!...AND at this point, I was still under the mistaken impression that I would be rocking the Victoria's Secret bikini I had niavely ordered in the smaller of my size spectrum logically thinking to myself when I ordered it that I didn't want the bottoms to be too big because I'd end up with a saggy butt...slightly off topic: I'm seriously starting to think I was delusional in my early 20s because the bottoms I got in the mail were SO far from saggy, no amount of wax could make them work.

I heard a soft knock and then saw Happy let herself back into the small room. I was laying on the table with the papertowels strategically positioned. Happy nodded at me and said, "Now we start. Jus Relas." She massaged my shoulders for a minute, and I was starting to get really worried that something had been lost in the translation when I asked for this procedure to be done. Little did I know she was trying to comfort me because she was aware of the incredible pain she was about to inflict.

I watched Happy dip what looked like a large tongue depressor into a container of hot wax. She then painted the wax onto the right side of my inner thigh. She pressed it with the tips of her fingers, smoothed it out with her palm and then pulled with all her might. I winced. Ouch. Damn, that hurt. It went on like this for several minutes. Paint. Press. Smooth. Rip. Repeat. Paint. Press. Smooth. RIP! Repeat.

I sighed, wondering when she would be done, looking down to check her progress and I noticed my two papertowel underwear was gone. Happy was doing the Brazillian! Shit. This was going to be awkward.

"Um...excuse me?"

No response from Happy. She was concentrating on her work. I tried to extend my arm, hoping to tap her on the shoulder. Instead, I twisted from the hip, disturbing Happy's work. She grunted and looked up at me, obviously irritated.

"Sit still!" She commanded. I did as I was told, wishing I had a bite stick and a shot of whiskey. In the twenty minutes to follow, Happy had one of my legs pushed up by my ear while the other one was pinned down at an awkward angle by her knee. I wondered why they didn't have stirups like they did at the gynocologist's office which made me think of my last visit there. Holy Shit! The next time I have to go there, I'm not going to bat an eye when she tells me I might feel something cold. If I make it out of this alive, I can live through anything.

When I saw Happy put the wax away, I breathed a sigh of relief as I propped myself up on my elbows, feeling violated and elated at the same time. I did it! It was terrible, but the most important thing was...it was OVER.

"Almost done." Almost? What else was there? I laid back. Maybe a refreshing, cooling, soothing lotion or wipe of some sort? Yes, that was probably it. She couldn't wax anymore. I saw her put it away. I tried to relax.

I decided to close my eyes while I waited for her to finish cleaning up my area. There was probably some extra wax. That's when I felt the first poke. I jumped a foot off the table, screeching, "OW!"

Happy smiled condescendingly and said again, "Almost done."

I eased back onto the table, and said, "It's ok. You don't need to..."

"ALMOST DONE!"

I gripped the edges of the table as Happy used a tweezer to pluck EVERY wayward hair in my ENTIRE area including the back door. If my teeth weren't clenched shut in pain, I would have said, "Look...it's ok if I have one or two hairs by my butt. PLEASE...seriously, I'm ok with that." In reality, I think all I managed to get out was: "Please!"

When she was satisfied that her assignment had been fulfilled, that she had eradicated all signs of hair life, she smiled at me and said, "We done. You maybe twy take Aspwin before you come nest time." Then she giggled an evil, evil giggle.

The door had already closed so I'm pretty sure she didn't hear my response.

"Should I take the asprin BEFORE or AFTER the vicodin?"

Lesson learned: If the name of the spa you're visiting also has the words "oriental" and "foot" in it, you probably shouldn't let them anywhere near your hoo ha.