WAXING…A Story Every Woman Should Read…

All hair removal methods have tricked us with their promises of easy, painless removal. The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and now…. The Wax!!

My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix dinner, play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next few hours: “Maybe I should pull the waxing kit out of the medicine cabinet.” So I headed to the site of my demise: the bathroom.
It was one of those “cold wax” kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get warm and you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever else) and you pull the hair right off.
No muss, no fuss. How hard can it be? I mean, I’m not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to figure this out.
(YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each other stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius kicks in so I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. (Cold wax, “yeah… Right!”)
I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin around it tight and pull.
It works!
OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but it wasn't too bad.
I can do this!
Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth skin extraordinaire.
With me next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids, I sneak back into the bathroom, for the ultimate hair fighting championship.
I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I apply the one strip across the right side of my bikini line, covering the right half of my *hoo-hoo* and stretching down to t he inside of my butt cheek.
(Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale deeply and brace myself… RRRRIIIPPP!
I’m blind! Blinded from pain!… OH MY GOD!
Vision returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the strip. CRAP!
Another deep breathe and RRIIPP!
Everything is swirly and spotted.
I think I may pass out… Must stay conscious…
Do I hear crashing drums?
Breathe, breathe…
OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy- a wax covered strip, the one that has caused me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it.
I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the strip! There’s no hair on it.
Where is the hair? WHERE IS THE WAX?
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet.
I see the hair. The hair that should be on the strip.
I touch. I am touching wax.
CRAP!
I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body, wh ich I s now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake… Remember my foot is still propped up on the toilet?
I know I need to do something. So I put my foot down.
DANG!
I hear the slamming of a cell door.
“hoo-hoo”? Sealed shut!
Butt? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to do and think to myself “Please don’t let me get the urge to poop. My head may pop off!”
What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water! Hot water melts wax!
I’ll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub, get in, immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it off, right?
WRONG!
I get in the tub- the water is slightly hotter than that used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment- I sit.
Now, the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued together is having them glued together a n d then glued to the bottom of the tub.. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now I’m stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had cement-epoxied myself to the porcelain!
God bless the man who had convinced me a few moths ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has some secret of how to get me undone. It’s a very good conversation starter- “So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the tub!”
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for removal but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know exactly where the wax is located, “Are we talking cheeks or who-ha?”
She’s laughing out loud by now… I can hear her. I give her the rundown and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box. YEAH! RIGHT! !  I should be the joke of someone else’s night.
While we go through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with a razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girly goodies covered in hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and then dry-shaving the sticky wax off!
By now the brain is not working, dignity has taken a major hike and I’m pretty sure I’m going to need Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving grace… The lotion the give you to remove the excess wax. What do I really have to lose at this point?
I rub some on and OH MY GOD!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the ens out of my friend.
It’s so painful, but I really don’t care.
“IT WORKS! It works!”
I get a hearty congratulations from my friend and she hangs up.
I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice t o my grief and despair… THE HAIR IS STILL THERE… ALL OF IT!
So I recklessly sh ave it off. Heck, I’m numb by now. Nothing hurts.
I could have amputated my own leg at this point.

Next week I’m going to try hair color…. Now that’s funny…… NOT!!!!