You ever go on a trip out of town and your friends encourage you to be a little adventurous and you end up doing the absolute most? That’s what happened to me last month when I headed down to Houston to visit my best friend. Within minutes of my arrival at George Bush Intercontinental Airport, my BFF hit me with a sideways proposition like she always does: “I’m making you an appointment for a Brazilian at the European Wax Center. I didn’t know if you were gonna be on some B.S. so I already went and got mine done this morning, but you’re getting one before you leave.”
Well, hello to you too/Jesus be a fence around my va jay jay.
At the time I told my friend I’d maybe, sorta kinda consider the offer, while simultaneously apologizing to my love below for the fact that someone ripping a hot gooey substance off her lips was going to be the most action she’d had in quite some time. And then I didn’t bring up the subject again, hoping that like the bright idea to drive to the beach in Galveston when it was only 70 degrees and cloudy had fallen by the wayside, so would this suggestion. But then, four days into my trip, I became the victim of the ultimate betrayal when, coming out of the shower and grabbing my clothes to head to a Tex Mex restaurant (the one thing I’d requested we do in Houston) I hear my best friend sneakily making an appointment at 3:00pm (the hour of doom) that would change my landscape — literally — forever.
I didn’t say a word to my friend the entire drive to the salon. One, because I was too hungry to talk (I didn’t get my Tex Mex remember), and two, because I always shut down and go on hush mode when I’m about to do something that scares the mess out of me. I’m not one of those people who has a low threshold for pain. Shots don’t bother me, I can watch a nurse draw blood from my arm, but this waxing business was new territory and considering my friend, who lives for these waxes, had told me months earlier she started taking one or two shots of liquor beforehand to ease the sting — and I was running on no food and couldn’t afford such a luxury — I was nervous as hell. I also don’t have a history of laying my va jay jay out on wax paper in front of strangers. Hell, even OBGYNs give you a paper cover or a night gown. Now I was supposed to lay it low and spread it wide the minute me and this esthetician exchanged names? Can we say awkward?
Awkward is exactly the word I would use to describe the experience — as well as pain. Lots of pain. I believe I described the experience to another friend afterward as eyebrow threading on your lady parts. The good thing about the process was I probably had the coolest woman in the whole spa waxing me. She was pure genius at distracting you with hilarious stories so you almost, but not quite, forget what she’s doing to you. Except of course when she gets to those tender spots and asks you a question and then you tell her, “I’m sorry, I can’t even comprehend the words that are coming out of your mouth right now.” And then you feel like a beast when it’s all done and think sweet Jesus I made it without crying. And then she tells you to flip over and spread it, and you clench your booty cheeks in fear because, even though you’ve been in that position before, it was for the purpose of pleasure, not unnecessary pain.
When I finally got the OK that the waxing was completely over, I stood up with that same shaky balance you have after you just exit a roller coaster, or fell in the middle of the sidewalk and hope nobody noticed. I lowkey felt like I couldn’t bare to have my panties touching my goodies anymore as the most soothing thing I’d felt all day was the woman applying pressure to my hot box after ripping off that damn white strip of nonsense saying “I know” like you would a baby screaming at four in the morning with a fever. And as I felt odd with the esthetician looking directly at me and cracking jokes as I redressed, I had to ask myself why I I felt weird about it, considering this woman just literally saw everything I have to offer. And I do mean everything.
I was undecided about my $32 adventure for the remainder of the day — and still didn’t have a full conversation with my best friend til around 7:00 pm — but by the next morning I realized this might actually be something I could get used to — the outcome not the pain. Not to sound like I was massaging my lady business, but I did have one of those hmm, this skin is kinda soft without a bunch of hair all over it, I think I like this moments. And then I had to reassess my belief that only pedophilic creepers like women with bare hoo has and thought, Oh, I see why men like this now.
A month later, I’m now within the four-six week window suggested for a touch up. And since I liked the results and was told the first time is the worst time, I’m actually thinking about heading back for another round. This time, I’ll be damned if I do it sober though. Though I can suck it up every month when I endure the sometimes unbearable pain of getting my eyebrows threaded, I can’t say I can put Brazilian waxes in the category of necessary evils.
Have you ladies ever had a Brazilian wax? Are you a fan or do you prefer to keep a little hair there?
