Since my Mother’s Day meltdown, I have realized I need to start taking better care of myself. I need to make an effort to do things that make me feel good about me again and not dumping 100% of my energy into everyone and everything else. At over 5 months pregnant for the second time in just 2 years, I desperately need to feel pretty, maybe even sexy. I booked an impulse trip to the Bahamas for my husband and I, so I figured now’s a great time to get some self-care in.
What does a beachy vacation call for? A bikini wax! It’s been about 7 years since I have had a bikini wax. Even 7 years ago I was not really into them like some people are. I was certainly not a regular. I only had it done every once in a while before similar types of vacations. Well here I am, 21 weeks pregnant and 7 years later about to go on a beachy vacation. I’d do my own primarily razor landscaping like I have been doing for the past several years, only my protruding belly makes that task a lot more daunting than it typically is. I can’t see down there anymore. Sure, I could use a hand mirror but I needed to treat myself to something nice and indulgent. Why in all hell did I think that having someone rip out my pubes from the root qualifies as something nice to do for myself??? How about a massage? How about a pedicure? How about having someone slap me in the face with a ping pong paddle? ANY one of those things would have been a better idea than this as a treat for myself.
When I entered the treatment room I immediately got anxious. I told my waxer, let’s call her “Madame Agony”, that though I have been waxed before it’s been several years so I am by no means a pro at this. She assured me it would be fine and that it doesn’t hurt that much. I explained I just wanted a simple bikini zone wax; NOT a Brazilian. She asked if I wanted the whole top removed. Yes. I would find out later that I don’t understand the names of the intimate waxing zones and we were going to have a big communication problem.
She proceeded to direct me to remove my underwear and lie down on the table. Okie dokie. After that I was told to put my feet together and drop my knees out to the side like a frog. This SHOULD have been the first sign that me and Madame Agony were NOT on the same page about what I wanted done. I laid there wondering why the hell she need’s this much access? This seems very gynecological for a simple bikini wax. But I laid there as she asked, thinking she’s the expert. She started on the sides which turned out to be more painful than I remembered and immediately I lost trust in Madame Agony. She assured me that this doesn’t really hurt. I knew it would hurt a little, but she severely minimized the pain expectations. Madame Agony tells me, “You know… it’s more sensitive when you’re pregnant so that’s why it hurts more.” Ummmm, you failed to mention that when you were telling me how much this DOESN’T HURT?
As she began chatting me up, presumably to take my mind off things, she proceeded with putting wax in places. We chatted about how many kids I’ve had and how much she loves children and can’t wait to have her own, and then a warm spread of wax went quite a bit further than I had anticipated. I stopped mid-sentence,
“Whoa! Whoa! That’s going a LOT further than I thought we would be going today!!”
She covered my entire right vagina lip in wax. This is NOT the simple bikini wax I was expecting. I said no Brazilian!
She responds, “You told me to take off the whole top.”
“Is that the TOP??? Where’s the top?! I didn’t think that was the top!!” In my mind the “top” is the area right in front when you are looking at someone standing there in front of you. Like this:
“No,” she says, “That’s the FRONT.” I realized in my explaining what I thought the top was that I had indeed used the word “front”. She explained that the top was everything between the legs. Why isn’t that called the “under”? That can’t be the “top” unless I am standing on my head. How the hell is this different from a Brazilian? Obviously I don’t know the proper lexicon of Hello Kitty grooming and should have done some research before I got there.
She stood over me, hesitant, not knowing what to do, and seeming like she felt really bad for the misunderstanding. At this point there was nothing we could do but move forward. The wax has to come off somehow. Let ‘er rip!
Then came the searing pain. It took 3 pulls. I thought she ripped off my entire vagina lip. I just knew it was gone; still attached to the wax strip in her hand. We could have a funeral. Bury it. It’s not coming back. Perhaps Janelle Monae could come to the service and sing PYNK to uplift the spirits of the other lady bits in the audience. Someone could do a reading from the Vagina Monologues. I’d love for Alice Walker to deliver the eulogy.
To my surprise my hot pocket was still in tact, just minus its spring cardigan, but only on one side. While I composed myself she moved on to other areas, which by now seemed a lot less painful in comparison to what I had just gone through. But still painful. It was no walk in the park. As she looped her way back around to the other side she asked, “Shall we go on?” My entire right side was still burning with pain. I had not recovered. I thought about the ripping, searing pain and how I had to clench my bladder with all my might to keep from peeing when she went in for that second and third pull to complete the section. Yes, I had gone to the restroom prior to the treatment but I am significantly pregnant with my third baby. There’s ALWAYS more pee. I laid there contemplating letting her do it. Am I really going to leave here with a half-waxed X-Box? I cannot be the woman who peed on the table in the middle of the bikini wax. I could get banished. I get my massages here. I can’t show my face here again if I pee from fear and pain.
And with that I said “NOPE!” I’d just even up the other side the best I can with a hand mirror and a razor. I hopped off that table so fast that I completely forgot to put my underwear back on. I pulled my dress down and got the hell out of there.
I texted my friend who gets regular waxes and told her about the pain I just went through. She said, “At least your vadge is pretty now.”
“Uhh not yet. I didn’t let her finish. I’ll just have to even things out with a razor.”
“I’m disappointed in you. You’ve birthed 2 kids and you can’t handle a little waxing.”
“I’m disappointed in me too, BUT when they offer epidurals with waxes then we compare the two events. Also, when you are giving birth, the only way out is through. You have no way to change your mind. She offered me an escape. I took that shit and ran. My panties are still in my purse.”
To make matters a bit worse, my husband came home early. I didn’t have time to even things out first and he knew I was getting a wax that day. When he got home the kids weren’t there so I knew he’d ask to see it.
“Before you even ask to see, let me explain. The bikini wax didn’t go as expected.”
I proceeded to inform him of the entire waxing nightmare experience with Madame Agony.
He interrupted me before I got to the end of my story, “Well it’s not like you could turn back so you just had to go through it at that point. It’s not like you can quit once you’ve started or it would look crazy.”
I smiled, “Oh how you underestimate me sometimes.”
“Wait… you quit?”
“I DIDN’T WANT TO ACCIDENTALLY PEE!!! YOU DON’T KNOW HOW IT FEELS!!”
Omar burst out laughing, “You HAVE to let me see. NOW!”
“Just let me even it out first.”
“Not a chance,” as he starts tugging at the bottom of my dress. So I show him.
“YOUR VAGINA IS ONE SIDED!!!! Your vagina looks like Bishop from the movie Juice!!!” he roared with laughter.
I don’t think I have ever heard him laugh quite this hard in the entire 6 years we have been together. Luckily I recognized the absurdity of this situation and was laughing right along with him. The jokes didn’t stop there.
“Your vagina looks like Gumby!”
“Your vagina is Bobby Brown circa 1987!”
“Your vagina is Two Face from Batman!”
Yes, my junk was lopsided. I’d planned to fix it before vacation. The night before vacation I went to work on evening things out and was immediately reminded of why I did this in the first place. BECAUSE I CAN’T SEE IT! AND I CAN’T MANEUVER AROUND MY BELLY!!! I did the best I could. I checked around down there like I was reading braille and I, for sure, didn’t do a great job but I was over it. I’m super pregnant and Omar has seen it at its worst when a person was bursting out of there. My Glory Hole’s current fashion choice is going to just be what it is until the partial deforestation grows back to catch up with the other side.
I got online and attempted to research the difference between a regular bikini wax and a Brazilian, and I am no closer to understanding the zones of my pubic region than I was when laying on the torture table. There’s bikini, partial bikini, extended bikini, martinis, mohawks, Bermuda Triangles, Hollywoods and many more. Madame Agony informed me that if I come back every few weeks at the beginning then it will hurt less and less, and eventually I will need to come back less and less because the hair doesn’t grow back as fast. Some people can take this form of beauty torture and I applaud them. For now I think I need to find other ways to treat myself. Unless they’re open to providing epidurals.
The Well-Adjusted Adult 