Monday, April 29, 2013

Brazilian Waxing

When I was twenty two, for some reason that whatever controls the universe only knows, I had a shitload of money in my pocket that day. No, I wasn't selling drugs. I think a guy I was sort of dating was at the time. Actually, he claims he sold weed. Technically that made him a florist. Or rather if we want to get super particular a greenhouse keeper. Never was that man a drug dealer. Just putting it out there.

Anyway there was this place, a sort of small mall by where I parked my ass, that did all sorts of things. You could get a palm reading from a scary lady. You could buy some scarves from an Indian dude. You could get your eyebrows waxed by an Indian lady. You could get your back rubbed by some Asian woman who pretended not to know English until she asked, "Longer, that means more money." And then you could get a Brazilian wax from another Asian woman. I don't want to say it was her sister, but it may have been. Who knows. It's racist to assume all Asians and all Indians are related, but sometimes they just are.

So I go to get the wax. My mom told me not to do it and that I could get an infection. Her voice echoed in my head, "You could make better use of your time." Nah, I wanted the wax. All my girlfriends at the time were getting it, and plus I heard that was what guys liked. I was very single after a rough relationship and enjoying my freedom. Even if no man ever saw Betty, as I call my vajay-hey, guys name theirs all the time-I could go to the beach without worrying that George the Bush would poke out.

I asked for the wax and the woman told me she would do it. So she told me to lay on the table and pull my pants down. I was thinking, "What kind of wax is this?" I was kind of freaked out cause I had never gotten one. So I pulled down my pants and thank goodness I had clean underwear on. I double glanced to make sure she pulled the curtain closed as not to have the local neighborhood sex offender see my girl Betty. I mean, you flash it and sometimes you get what you get. I am not saying women who flash for it are asking for it, but maybe they are just passing the note a little.

When I saw the curtain was closed she said, "Wow, you got bush." Yes, I had a bush. I was one who never waxed, never shaved, cause why? Why until now. So then the next words out of her mouth were, "Scissors." And she proceeded to get the scissors and trim my bush like a bunch of errant hedges on the lawn of a widowed shut in residing in the suburbs. This was weird enough letting a strange Asian woman see Betty, and now she was trimming her. The whole thing felt like an out of body experience. My whole life I had been told only slutty girls shaved and waxed. I had just joined the slut brigade I suppose.

When she was done trimming I thought the awkward would be over. Now it was time for the pain. She put hot wax on Betty. Then she got the paper strips and placed them over the hot wax. I had gotten my eyebrows waxed before. I knew it would sting a tad but the pain would subside. Hell no. It hurt like a mutherfucker. When she ripped the paper off I screamed at the top of the lungs. The other Asians in the shop looked over in horror. She did it again and this time I screamed even louder. By the way she was ripping the paper you would have thought this was the Vietnam War and I was John McCain.

After I screamed the second time she said, "You okay? You want water?" I nodded. I would tell her whatever she wanted to know at this point. Now I know how guys felt when someone was holding or kicking their jewels. Except in my case this was elective which made it even more insane. So she got me some water and then proceeded to rip some more. She also gave me something I could grip for the pain as not to scare away the rest of the customers. When she was done, it was a relief. My regret was that I didnt come to salon drunk. Had I done so it would have hurt less. Instead I was saving that treat for later when I met my friends at some dive that served cheap whiskey and had men who had nothing going for them. I was twenty two, stop expecting an idiot who's bright idea to use her eighty dollars was to mutilate her genitals.

Needless to say I could not sit for two days and itched like someone who got mosquito bitten in the Panama Canal shortly before dying of yellow fever. On the upside the feeling was smooth and good. Plus when I went to the beach George the Bush didnt make his awkward appearance. Bottom line, this was too much money and pain to make men happy. I am a comedian who works with puppets, writes books, and makes music videos about how men have screwed her over. Never have I claimed to be cool. Hell I am the epitome of uncool and unlucky in love as well as life.

So that was my first and last Brazilian wax. An Argentinian somewhere is laughing because of the stupid fashion trend their rivals invented.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl
Paperback available on Amazon and 877-Buy-Book
E-Book available on Kindle and Nook
Audiobook available on itunes and Audible this Spring
Portion of proceeds go to Greenpeace

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