Wax Off

One would think that the person that knows my body better than myself would be my husband. Although that is probably the case most of the time, they would be wrong. The person that knows my body better than even I do is a woman named Angela. She is the woman who gives me a Brazilian bikini wax about once a month.

I prefer to sit through a few moments of pain (excrutiating pain!) than to face razor burn and bumping down there. Plus the reaching trying to get every nook and cranny with a razor just isn't for me. So I go to a small place on 39th Street in the city and see Angela. Goodbye modesty. Hello smooth vagina.

Firstly, you have to do yoga-like poses, sans panties, in order for her to do her job properly. Legs spread, knees bent, small beads of sweat starting to form under my arms from the pose and the anticipation. She positions me, and then dips a stick into the very hot wax before applying liberally to the spot of her choosing. Ahhh, that doesn't feel so bad. A piece of fabric or heavy-duty paper (I'm not sure which) then gets slapped onto the wax and before you can say "Ouch", she rips it off. To be honest, it really only hurts terribly when you haven't gone for a while, or the first time. When you've been maintaining, it's bearable. She small-talks about weekend plans and her children, but I have a hard time responding between my quick gasps of air and holding my breath so that I don't scream out in pain. As if an outburst would be more embarrassing than the rest of it.

The awkwardness begins when she pushes IT (that thing that ends with the letters IT) one way or the other in order to free the lips of any unwanted stragglers. There are only two people who touch IT ever, and it is solely for pleasure purposes. Me and my husband. And now Angela. So I pretend that it didn't happen and let her do her job. Awkward moment number one over, but the worst is yet to come.

"Turn over," she says, her Russian accent heavy. I grimace at the thought but I know it's what I signed up for and what I'm paying for so I do it, my face scrunched up at the horror of what is about to come. No matter how many times I go through this, my reaction to this moment is the same. As I said earlier, goodbye dignity. Hello smooth anus. She makes me hold my cheeks apart and at that moment I have exposed more to Angela than I ever have to anyone else. Then I feel the warmth of the wax followed by the paper, the slap and the rip. I am of Scandinavian descent, so fairly hairless, if you must know the truth. That being said, that part doesn't really hurt. The only part that hurts is my ego.

Then, heaven. Baby powder liberally applied, followed by a nice soothing liquid which she rubs into my reddened skin the way you would to a baby. It's the only part of the experience that I enjoy. The true spa-ness of that moment. Ahhh, I think. It's over and I can't even remember the pain.