It’s not every day you find yourself lying spread eagle on a bed with your bush staring up at a stranger and tears running down your cheeks. Ahhhh, the bikini wax.
You see, it’s probably not entirely normal to get your pubes ripped from your vagina every four weeks (I doubt they were doing it back when we lived in caves), but I like to consider myself a smooth operator, so it’s something I have learnt to endure – time and time again.
For me, a bikini wax, or in my case the Hollywood, is a necessity. I’m hairy as shit. And to go more than 28 days would basically mean celibacy from then on.
Question is, how do I manage to persuade myself to go through it over and over again? Well, I try my very hardest to completely forget absolutely everything it entails. It’s like my brain has filed every waxing memory into the deepest part of my mind… That is, until I’m lying on the bench getting tortured by a woman in latex gloves.
And then, for 15 minutes, I submit my genitalia to all sorts of debauchery, all the while having a full-blown conversation in my head. Here’s how it goes...
‘Please don’t watch me while I take off my knickers. I’ve been in them alllll day… I don’t even know what to expect.’
‘Bend my leg how far?!’
‘Why is she looking at me so weirdly? I knew it, I’m not normal?'
‘Just count the ceiling tiles... One. Two. Three. FUCK that wax is hot!’
‘Wow, I’m so exposed, I’m pretty sure I just felt a breeze on my labia minora?’
‘Why’s she bollocking me about leaving it too long, do I not seem vunerable enough already?’
‘Oh God! This is getting intimate, where exactly is her finger?’
‘Do NOT make this bed vibrate (belly gurgles)... Please don’t fart.’
‘Oh great. The lips. Her fingers are between each lip. I hate when she pulls the pubes out of my... OWWW! That hurt.’
‘Why the hell did I ask for a Hollywood… Again?! When will I learn my lesson. Fuck this ever again!’
‘Shit! Am I due for my period?!’
‘Great. Now, I’ve got the nervous sweats. Now when I get up I’m going to leave a nice outline of my body she can remember me by. Sort of like a soggy murder scene.’
‘Up on all fours, like a frickin’ baby. Is this actually necessary?!’
‘Pull my arse cheeks wider? Sure! I can do that. There goes any sort of dignity I had left.’
‘She’s looking at my arsehole. I have a stranger looking right up my arsehole. FML.’
‘If she plucks one more non-existent hair with tweezers, I’m gonna lose it. Seriously, surely she must be done by now.’
‘Finished? Good. Now leave me here to cry in the foetal position.’
The next day...
‘How the fuck do I already have a 5 o’clock shadow?!’
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This article originally appeared on The Debrief.