Right around the time of my birthday, I decided that every week I would do something I had never done before.
I started with pain. While I think I’ve experienced a great deal of emotional pain, I’ve never endured much physical pain. No broken bones as a kid. No overnight stays in the hospital. No running injuries. Backaches? Who the hell has backaches?
That first week, I decided to get a brazilian and completely wax everything off. I would have never come up with the notion on my own. What prompted the idea was a conversation I had with a bunch of people I met at a conference.
The People: It’s all about the brazilian.
Me: Huh? Are you serious?
The People: Yeah, that’s the only way to go.
Me: Ummm, yeah. I’ve never done it.
The People: What?!?!?!
Me: I mean, I’ve gotten a couple bikini waxes. But a brazilian? Whoah, I’ve never even considered it. I mean, I’ll look like I’m 13 years old.
The People: You are missing out, girlfriend. You have got to get one.
So I did.
I bursted with excitement as I told a bunch of friends what I was doing that Saturday. “Guess what. I’m going to get a brazilian!” A couple friends walked me through the whole process and what to expect, noting that it would be painful. I didn’t realize it was going to be painfully unbearable.
Maybe it’s because I went to my cheap-ass nail salon. Maybe it’s because it was only $20.
The woman ushered me into a filthy room with short pubic hairs on the floor. I refused to set my purse down on the floor. When I set my purse on the chair instead, I noticed remnants of wax splattered on the chair. I almost walked out, but refrained. I let out a sigh and persevered. I comforted myself that it would all be over very soon.
After trimming my hair, the woman layered a film of wax on me with a paintbrush. Then she proceeded to bind strips of thick gauze to that place where the sun don’t shine and strip them off with a vengeance.
Yikes! I screamed out in pain. RIP rest in peace. The Hail Marys were on the tip of my tongue.
Aggghhhh!! I clutched my tummy. Tears of pain streaked down the corners of my eyes.
RRRRRRRIPPPPPPP!!! Omigosh, I was sweating in fear. I wiped my forehead, then returned to clutch my tummy.
“You turn around now,” the woman ordered. I was now on all fours, doggy-style. She positioned my hands on my ass. “Hold like this,” she continued, pulling my hands outward.
I’d had enough. No more. I was about to tell her to stop. I didn’t want to continue. I’d had my brazilian experience and I wanted it to stop right there.
“Oh, good. You no hair back there.”
Hallelujah, was I relieved. Then I thought, ‘who the hell has hair back there?’ I wiped the rest of my tears away, got dressed, and paid.
After I collected my thoughts, I called my friend. “I just got my brazilian. Two words. NEVER AGAIN.”