A trip to Brazil

I have been a proponent of bikini waxing for sometime. I don't know what your preferences are, but looking like the Wild Woman of Borneo while wearing my swimming togs is not my idea of a fashion forward look. And since I don't really relish the whole "getting used to waxing all over again" experience, I wax year around. Because, frankly, it hurts. Which is why I wrote this post, specifically this:

Who in the hell developed the Brazilian Wax and how in the hell did he get women to go for it?

Really, think about it. I knew what was involved and so I couldn't fathom why someone would put themselves through this. The preponderance of patients who have obviously gone through this procedure notwithstanding. I also have many friends who have had this experience and the tales of position changes that require you to be a cross between a contortionist, a Cirque du Soliel performer and a pretzel increased my confusion. So, I decided to find out for myself what it was like. Why? Because I'm RETARDED!

I entered my usual waxing room already giggling in the way I do when I am nervous about something. It starts as giggling and escalates rapidly to hysterical laughter. I was also sweating like an expectant father with the clap. (Thank you Meatballs.) My dear aesthetician and I discussed the plan and she stepped out so I could disrobe and cover up. Unfortunately for me, the beds are heated which, in no way, helped with the sweating. Johnna came in and instructed me to frog my legs. "Assuming the position" as I call it in my line of work. The first part was really no big deal, as I was used to waxing anyway. Then she moved closer to *ahem* midline as it were. The first pull of the wax bowed my back like a electro-shock therapy patient. Yeowza! At this point I began breathing like I was in transition. It didn't help any better here than it did when I was in labor. My favorite word did NOT make an appearance, I didn't even think it. This may be because I'm sure I blacked out or had an out of body experience. Pretty sad I'm more professional when I'm being denuded faster than the Amazonian rain forest than when I'm in my place of business.

It was at this point that I decided being an aesthetician was a far weirder job than mine. And I deal with strange women and their girl parts all day long. Still not as weird.

The job got finished amid more laughing ( I was NERVOUS!) and discussions about other clients who got halfway through and decided they had had enough. I don't know if a Brazilian wax is a good time to go 40 Year Old Virgin and bail. Seems to me to be a bad look.

So, my unhealthy curiosity is assuaged and I can sleep easier knowing what exactly is entailed in a Brazilian wax. Now I just get to look forward to grow out. Sheesh.

As a Post Script: I got beat like a dog at work for the last few days, so when the phone rang at 0539 this am I didn't even say hello. All they got was "Uh-uh!" Click.