Finding a good esthetician is harder than finding a husband. That’s why I let my bikini line grow down to my ankles after a cross-country move tragically forced a breakup with my beloved waxer. We were together for ten years – that’s a good run. I suffered through some really bad waxing before I finally found her and I wasn’t ready to replace her. She didn’t just rip hair off my body – she was my life coach and confidante. She waxed me before I got married, she waxed me when I was pregnant and after I gave birth. She knew everything about me (I mean EVERYTHING!)

After a long and furry winter, I knew I needed to get back up on the table but I was too embarrassed to make an appointment at a “real” spa. I needed to find a place that didn’t have a problem with using a buzz saw to prep me – somewhere cheap and fast where I would never have show my face again.

A spur of the moment mani/pedi at a walk-in place in a part of town that I rarely went to seemed like the perfect opportunity. I saw the list of services offered eyebrow and lip wax, so I figured why not ask if they could do my entire body? The exchange went something like this:

“Can I get an upper leg and bikini wax?”

“Upper lip?”

“No. Upper leg.”

“Upper lip?”

“No. Upper leg.”

“Leg and lip?”

“That works.”

She leads me to a back room and offers to help take off my pants so my nails don’t get ruined. I delicately hold my wet nails up in the air as she unbuttons my jeans. This is awkward AF and somewhat terrifying but it’s been dry back at the ranch and I figure if this is some sort of happy ending place, I might be down with it.

She pulls my jeans off and takes one look at my legs and exclaims, “Oh, so much hair!” I can’t tell if she is horrified or amused – it doesn’t matter, there’s no turning back now. I slide up onto the table and close my eyes and try to escape to the 80’s music that is ironically playing from a 80’s cassette player complete with tinfoil antenna. I can hear her turning on the wax pot. I peek over and see her counting out the little muslin strips that are pre-cut for waxing eyebrows. I wonder if they have bigger strips available? I also wonder if they have more wax pots – this one seems rather small for the job.

She steps outside while the wax is warming and I can hear her through the door shouting in Vietnamese to her co-workers. I’m sure she is saying things like, “You guys should come back here and check this shit out! Take a picture and post it on Reddit. It will go viral and be great for business! I’ve never seen anything like it! I thought she said upper lip wax. This is not a $10 job!”

She comes back in the room and I want to tell her to forget about it but she starts applying the wax to my overgrown hair with popsicle sticks. The wax tugs and pinches. She takes the small strips and starts removing the hair from my upper legs one by one. It is the most painful thing I have ever experienced in my life – worse than childbirth. Like bandages being ripped from an open wound. I look down and see blood – she is tearing my skin off. I start to sweat through my underwear. I think I might shit myself.

My nails are still up in the air to dry. I’m burning through their supplies. We are on the second pot of wax and it looks like the eyebrow strips are running low too. She rolls up her sleeves, wipes the sweat from her forehead and continues. An hour and a half later there is a knock at the door. There is an exchange. I imagine it goes something like this, “I’m fucking dying in here. I missed my lunch break. I don’t get paid enough for this bullshit!”

I know they are talking about me. I go from feeling embarrassed to angry to feeling sorry for this poor woman. Housekeeping for pubic hair – it’s a horrible job. She finishes and helps me put my pants back on. My legs are red and beginning to rash. There is a mixture of wax and blood sticking to the inside of my jeans – I try to adjust the fabric and can feel the sting of sweat that is dripping from my ass. I think I am going to faint.

I leave the room and hold my head down in shame while making a b-line to the register. The room feels quiet and heavy. I fumble for my credit card, pay and run to my car. I take a quick look back and can see my lady flailing her arms around while talking to her boss. I hope I didn’t get her fired. Clearly, we weren’t a good match and we won’t be seeing each other again. Now the question is, do I continue my search or go to Costco and buy a lifetime supply of razors.



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