So what are we oversharing about today?
So last year, in December, for my birthday, The Boyfriend gives me a voucher for a spa day, and tells me to choose from their menu of treatments. So I do. I decide to have a massage, (a 45 min back, neck and shoulder massage – because I have issues with other people touching me, and what if a full-hour is too long and what if it freaks me out and then I have to lie there for an entire hour?) a facial, (because I want one) a manicure, (not a pedicure – because I can’t stand people touching my feet) an eyebrow wax and tint and an eyelash tint (because I’ve never had one, and it sounds cool) and……a bikini wax….
Why? Because I like to be smooth down there, and waxing seemed like the way to go, although I could never work up the balls to book an appointment for myself to get it done. And self-waxing strips at home didn’t seem like an option. I mean come on – who is seriously going to WAX THEIR OWN VAGINA? That would involve mirrors and staring into your own….well, you get the idea.
Shaving is fine – because I’ve been doing it for so long, I don’t even have to look anymore.
But….back to the story.
So I decide. Vagina waxing must happen. And it must happen for my birthday.
I think nothing more of it – after all – I’ve been through child-birth – what could be worse than that, right? (Okay, so I had a c-section under general anaesthetic, but so what?) My spa day rolls around, I put on my comfy pants, make sure to put on underpants and I smoke a joint beforehand – you know, to relax me – and I surrender my body and face and hands to the beauticians at said spa.
The massage was wonderful. I wish it could have lasted longer. The “spa manicure”? That made me snort. The thing that makes it a “spa” manicure? They soak your hands in a bowl of warm water before they start the treatment. Seriously. The eyebrow wax and eyebrow tint and eyelash tint was cool. Took me a bit of time to adjust to having such dark eyebrows, but I will definitely do that again at the end of the month. The facial? Absolutely incredibly divine. Was still reasonably stoned at this stage, and the hot steam blowing in my face was pretty orgasmic for my skin. I fell asleep during my 90 minute facial.
The best was clearly saved for last. The vagina wax. Initially, having no idea what varieties were on offer, I’d opted for a plain bikini wax, but then when the tiny brunette beautician (or whatever the fuck they call themselves) lead me by the hand into a small, dark room and I explained to her what I wanted, it turned out to be a little bit more along the lines of what Sass describes in this post, only sans backdoor waxing** – in other words – a full vaginal wax.
So she tells me to take off all my clothes, put on this wrap-around towel thing and hands me a DISPOSABLE G-STRING. All neatly wrapped up in its own little box. A DISPOSABLE g-string. Like hospital broeks, but the porno version.
I lie down on the bed, she dims the lights and turns the music up. You know, really setting the romantical mood. Not. She runs her hand up my thigh and parts them. Tells me to put my one foot under my other knee. So now I’m lying on the bed, in a wraparound towel, wearing a disposable g-string, with my legs waaaaiiiiiiiide open.
My face is on fire. I’m trying not to think about the fact that there is a little brunette woman, standing between my legs, about to touch me in a place no one except my boyfriend has for the past three years. (Okay, my obstetrician/gynaecologist touched me there A LOT – but you know, it was unavoidable and I didn’t volunteer for it). She peers into a little tub that’s bubbling with blue liquid, and pokes a wooden lollypop stick into it. I wont go into too much more detail here, except to say: OHMYDEARSWEETBABYJESUSINASHOPPINGCART it hurt when she pulled it off. And it was only a teeny-tiny little bit she’d applied just to give me an indication of what waxing felt like.
I then understood why she’d turned the music up loud. It wasn’t to set the mood. It was to drown out my shrieks of ‘OH DEAR GOD THAT FUCKING HURTS’ and ‘MOTHER OF FUCK, IS *THAT* REALLY NECESSARY?’. It fucking hurt, and it fucking hurt bad. Even worse was the fact that she kept touching the area she’d just violated, with her fingers – attempting to soothe the skin – and she kept putting her face right in my crotch, and blowing vigorously on my vagina. I have no idea what for, other than the fact that it was completely mortifying. Even more so mortifying was the fact that she’d have to apply pressure on my labia when pulling the wax off, to avoid pulling my entire vagina right off my body. Even though I have small, neat little lips, when wax is involved – goddamn they become STRETCHY. And stretching HURTS.
The procedure that probably took in total 20 minutes, felt longer than my manicure, massage and facial combined. I was convinced she was going to kill me, and that I was going to pass out from the pain. She kept telling me that the next time I had it done it would be much less painful, and that it would progressively become less painful. “WTF-EVER” was all that was going through my mind.
I’d initially opted to have ‘all off’. And working around the g-string – what with pulling it all over the place and fiddling under it – was painful. All of it was painful. I was bordering on dying of pain when eventually I said to her YOU HAVE GOT TO STOP NOW. So I conceded to having a Brazilian. A little ‘landing strip’. Mostly because I was petrified of her touching my clitoris, and mostly because that part would have been fucking painful. I chickened out, and walked out of there feeling considerably plucked, tucked and totally fucked.
My vagina was on fire – it was red and puffy and I walked much like a cowboy does when he hasn’t realised yet that he no longer has his horse between his legs. It was sore. And it was sore for the next 24 hours. But after that? Smooth as a baby’s bottom.
And it stayed that way for longer than 3 weeks, which is great. Would I ever do it again? Probably.
But I’m definitely going to apply some kind of numbing cream to my vagina beforehand. And I’m definitely going to smash a bottle of vodka in the parking lot.
But I’m definitely not going to ask for the same chick again. In fact, I hope that place has a high staff turnover.
Because seriously. How are you honestly supposed to look a person in the eye when they’ve been looking you square in the vag for the last twenty minutes?
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