Wax On Wax Off

I had this harebrained idea to get a Brazilian wax about a year ago (really, no pun intended). I had read an article in the Stranger about different types of waxing and it seemed like a fun and exciting experiment. I get my eyebrows waxed religiously and that's not that too painful, so I figured what the hell.

I neglected to remember, however, my experience with waxing in the sixth grade. I decided that shaving was just way too time consuming, so I bought a box of Sally Hansen cold wax kit from Pay n' Save. When I got home, I set to work in the upstairs bathroom in our house in Olympia. The kit contained a container of cold wax (meaning that it didn't need to be heated up - it remained liquid even when it was room temperature), some fabric strips and a large stick that looked like a tongue depressor.

The directions suggested doing a patch test to see if you're allergic to the wax, which I casually ignored. (I would soon find out that being allergic to the wax would be the least of my worries.) The directions advised to smooth on the wax with the stick and then place the cloth strip over the wax. Then you are supposed to pull the strip off in the direction of the hair growth (whatever that means). I grasped the edge of the strip and it just pulled off, leaving the wax on my leg. So I pressed the fabric down harder and waited a second for it to adhere. I got a good grip on the fabric and proceeded to rip off the first four layers of my dermis, along with a few hairs. HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! The pain was excruciating. I stupidly tried to pull off one more fabric strip after that, but didn't get past my shin area. I was in tears in a heap on the floor of the bathroom. To hell with this bullshit, I thought to my sixth grade self.

So, more recently, I had the Brazilian wax idea. I called Habitude in Ballard to see when I could get an appointment. I found out that Brazilians are more expensive than bikini waxes, which helped me to chicken out and only get a bikini wax.

When I got to my appointment, I was ushered into a private room. The room had an aroma therapy smell and soft, tinkly new age music playing in the background. There was a table, kind of like a massage table in the middle of the room. I plunked down on the table and waited for my waxer.

When my waxer arrived, and she said I didn't have to take off my underwear. She just asked me to show her about where my bikini would end. Ha, I snorted to myself, I don't even own a bikini - I have a onepiece Miraclesuit. Who did she think I was - Giselle Frickin' Buendchen? But, I wanted to get this show on the road, so I said, "About there."

She proceeded to smooth on warm wax. I tried to take some deep breaths and prepare for the impending doom. Next, she set a piece of fabric over the wax (much like the strips in the Sally Hansen cold wax kit) and ripped the living shit out of my bikini line.

"Are you all right?," waxer lady asked me.

I nodded and smiled, "Sure, I'm fine," I said through clenched teeth as tears sprang to the corners of my eyes. Of course, why wouldn't I be fine? Getting your hairs ripped out by the root is just as much fun as drinking pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, right?

The torture continued until I wanted to run screaming away from the lavender essential oil smell and the whalesounds cd that was playing. Then my waxer told me that we were done (sweet relief) and that I could I could "take a minute" before heading out.

I put my pants back on and went to the front area of the salon. What kind of masochist PAYS for that level of pain, I thought to myself. If I remember correctly, the total was $45 or so. I stupidly made a follow-up appointment, but ended up cancelling it. And no, the pain of the actual waxing wasn't the only reason I cancelled.

Once I got home, the real pain began. The skin where the cruel waxing had taken place was so sensitive that there was no clothing loose fitting enough to prevent chafing. I couldn't wear any of my underwear for a week. I had to wear Aaron's boxer briefs until my skin became less inflamed.

What kind of insane person would get a bikini wax on a regular basis? I don't know, but I'm sticking with only brow waxing - that's the only level of pain that I can endure. From now on, I'll just be wearing a bathing costume that goes down to my knees like they wore in the 1920s.