"Misery loves company"

"Try it, I think you should try it. You will love it and Miranda will eat you alive." This is how peer pressure convinced me to try the Brazilian Full wax. Lily, Sarah and Doug said I would feel lighter. But I don't think hair weighs that much anyway. Lily gave me the name of the woman who was a goddess in art of waxing. They told me Miranda would love the surprise and that I would want to be that way forever, hairless. And I asked about the pain and they deceived me saying was a pain that I could stand. But I would never, I repeat, never in my wildest dream be ready for what was behind of that pornography, gynecologist, esthetic, industry called WAXING SERVICES.

"Hello, this is Andy Priestly, I would like to make an appointment with Salma."

"And which of her services are you interested in?"

"I want the Brazilian wax."

"Partial or full?"

Then I stopped, partial? Full? What the hell? There were choices? Then I figured that if I was willing enough to try, I might as well go all the way, right?

"Full"

"Ok, Mrs. Priestly, how about tomorrow afternoon around, say, 2 pm. Is that ok for you?"

"Perfect."

When the day arrived I had a light meal, not knowing what I was about to get into. I put my D&G suit with silk la Perla thong and made my way to the salon. Salma was waiting for me when I got there, a beautiful woman with long legs, skinny. She was really beautiful and I thought to myself, "Great. There's no way I am gonna end up, looking like her. She asked me to follow her back towards the work rooms. We went from the reception of the beauty parlour into a long, open room. One side wall, the other side wall of white curtains and behind them I could hear some groans, little screams, and some general conversation. It was kinda like being in a cross between Caligula and the Hostel movies. I started to feel a cold breeze going down my spine right there and I was still fully dressed. Then we arrived to our charming place; she opened the curtain for me where I found a stretcher and some accessories waiting for me.

"Honey, take off your pants and then you can lay down."

I took it off my pants and shyly lay down on the stretcher, leaving my panties on. Salma barely looked at me. From my position on the table I could see the torture equipment waiting for me. I saw weird things: a pan, a hair cut machine and a tweezers. I still can't say that word without feel my whole body shudder.

Oh, my God, this was the Hostel movie. I remember that movie because Miranda spent two days giving me the silent treatment for letting the girls watch it. Anyway, all of sudden Salma forward with a string in her hands. I, of course, pretended everything was natural and knew what she was about to do but I got surprised when she passed that thing for the inside of my underwear and tied up so she can work on me without dirt my thong too much with the wax.

"You want really short, right?" she asked and I said "Yes, exactly." Selma then left only the tiny line of my thong covering my sex. "The hairs are too high. I will have to cut a little but you won't feel any pain at all." "Oh, yeah, sure." Sure my ass. I didn't understand one thing that she was doing but I trusted her. As a journalist I should know better than to trust anyone.

After some time she came back to me, a spatula in hand covered with some kinda of viscous hot liquid. "Can you open your legs please?"

"Like this?"

"No, honey, like a butterfly, you know? Fold up your knees and bend your legs to the sides."

"Oh, spread it, right?" She laughed and I wondered why I was there again. Right then Salma passed the first surface of hot wax over my virgin groin. It felt so good, so warm, so great, that is until the she began to pull. It was quick and lethal. I thought at that time that all the skin of my body had been removed with the first quick rip of the wax strip, that only my bones remained at the stretcher. I had no courage to watch, half convinced that blood was gushing everywhere. I looked towards my purse, ready to call 911 at any moment. Anything to stop her from doing that again.

I concentrated on keeping calm, trying to convince Salma, and myself, that I was perfectly used to this. Salma asked me if everything was fine when she saw me turning purple. I had forgotten to breathe. I was afraid breathing would make it hurt even more. "Yes, I am, you?" At this she laughed again and probably thought to herself 'What a strange girl.' But of course she had learned how to be friendly and gentle to keep the clients, and this included keeping her thoughts quiet.

Still, the Medieval process continued. With each yank my desire to smack the hell out of Salma increased. I remembered Lily, Sarah and Doug's recommendations about the waxing and could only imagine that they had played some kind of sick practical joke on me. That was the only reasonable explanation for the suffering I was currently experiencing. I think people recommend the process solely to perpetuate the whole "Misery loves company" myth.

"You want to remove the hair of the lips right?"

"No, only groin, not my face." She laughed again. "No, honey, I'm talking about the lips down here." No, no, no, no. Stop this train, I want to get off. Wax the big lips? Against my better judgment, I let her. I'm already in pain and terrified; what's a little more. "Ok, remove the hair, make it worth it, please."

The technician in the next room came in to observe my situation. "Wow, that is looking fantastic but you left some hair down there." She pointed to my groin, "look closer, Salma." If I had any hair left down there it would be waving, their breath was so close. And when I say close, I mean really CLOSE. I closed my eyes, praying that this was just a nightmare. "Please, God, wake me or better yet, kill me. Kill me now, please, and let Miranda and my girls knows that I loved them."

I finally came to my senses when, in the midst of all the chit chat, I heard the one word I dreaded more than anything. Tweezers. The crazy bitch said "tweezers."

"I will use the tweezers to remove some rebel hairs that remain here, ok?" "Yeah, whatever. I can't feel anything anyway; everything is numb right now." Boy, was that a mistake. I felt every single pinch of those damn tweezers in my sore skin. I wanted to hurt Salma, I wanted to hurt her badly. And yet, little did I know, the real reason I would want to kill her hadn't even come up yet.

"Now, turn on your side, ok?"

"What?"

"You have to lie on your side so I can work inside of your thighs." Things couldn't get any worse. But still, I obeyed Salma. I turned to lay on my side and awaited new instructions.

"Hold your butt up and the back of your thong."

"What?"

"That side, hold up." I had the urge to cry, to scream. I couldn't see what Salma was seeing but I was pretty sure she had the full view of 'the blind eye'. How many people have seen this part of me? Not my gynecologist. Not even Miranda.

Okay, I lied. Miranda has seen it and she loved it. But that's another story. I wanted to cry again, scream again; heck, I wanted to fart in her face, like I could poison her. I was thinking of Salma waking in the middle of the night, sweating like a pig with a nightmare. I imagined her husband asking "What happened, baby?" and her response, "I had another nightmare with that same client".

But again, I was quickly brought back reality. I felt the fake cozy feeling of the hot wax again on my skin; actually, in my twin peaks. I didn't know what was worse, the pain itself or the embarrassing position I found myself in. I know she must do this a thousand times per day. In fact, thinking that way made me feel even better; why she would remember me out of so many clients? And then a new thought came into my mind, do I even have hair there? I couldn't finish my thought, Salma pulled the wax and I thought my butt had left totally from my body in one big pull. For sure that is not even one little fold left in my anus to tell the story. I bit the pillow and groaned at the same time. At some point-I don't even remember when-I started to pray. "Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done." Again I was transported back to reality by the sweet voice of Salma telling me to "turn around on your other side."

FUCK! Why she didn't remove everything from one side? Again I turned around and held my butt cheek and then to make it worse the damn bitch from the other room came back.

"Salma can you give me some cotton?" A single tear slipped out from my eyes. This was too much pain, too much embarrassment. It doesn't even make any sense. Who was I doing this for? No one would see it, not this close, I mean. "Ok, we're done Mrs. Priestly. You can lie on your back again; I'll pass the machine over just to remove those last remaining ones since you didn't like the tweezers."

"What machine?"

"Just to do that hair here in the front. It'll feel really smooth when we're done with it" she said smiling. I was about to bite her ear off, Mike Tyson style. "Will it hurt?" What a stupid question.

"No, not at all."

"Okay, give it a go."

"Great, take off your underwear, please." It took two seconds of extreme shock before I could process the "take off your underwear" statement. How can someone say that to you without even buying you a drink first? This woman knows who my wife is, doesn't she? My jealous wife? But the shock was replaced by my total redemption. She saw everything already, front and back, up and down, side to side. What's so wrong down in my underwear? At least that part didn't hurt. Actually, I have to admit, it was kind of pleasant.

"Done, you want me to put some powder on it?"

"Yeah, sure."

"All done, now you can date all you want." Date? DATE? Miranda is not allowed to touch me until I feel this sore which means a whole year. I want revenge. But I have to say that the result is great-pretty, smooth and silky. Different than shaving, obviously. But it hurt and disturbed me a lot. I want to kill those Judases that I call my friends. I'd ask Miranda to write an article on Runway warning women of the perils this procedure involves but I know she will say her precious magazine is not the right arena for me to begin my anti-wax crusade. I want to be Camille Paglia, I want to be a feminist, I want to live and die hairy. I want a revolution against waxing, I want to protest in the streets, to fight for anti-Brazilian wax legislation. I'm even thinking about buying the www . imhairyandhappy . com domain.

And maybe I will do all that. But right now I want nothing more than go home and spend the next four days inside the Jacuzzi. As I left Salma told me she'd see me in two weeks. Yeah, right. More like two decades.

FIN