the good girl

When I get bored, I sometimes make bad beauty decisions.  I was bored enough one afternoon to experiment with Brazilian Waxing.  In my boredom, I didn’t bother to research which salons might be best to help me out with such a delicate matter.  Instead, I got in my car and drove around town until I saw a place in a strip mall, that looked relatively clean and cheap, and non-creepy.  Because you know, if you are looking for a place to pull out your hairy bizness with the intensity of a million wasp stings, CHEAP is the way to go.

At first, my waxer was a sweet little woman who spoke in a soft, whispery asian accent.  She put me at ease as I took off my pants and laid bare naked on the strictly clinical waxing table.

Leaned over a crock pot, my waxer used a wooden paint stick to stir the hot, thick, bubbling wax.  It was boiling, and it was about to be plastered all over my nether regions.  That’s when I felt the panic set in. Without a moment’s notice, my overly friendly waxer  began to rip the wax, hair and probably bits of skin from my bathing suit area. Oh fuck.  OMG. What the hell are you doing to me, ladddyyyyyy?

And as I gasped in pain with every tug at my parts, she would whisper soflty into my ear, “Oh baby, you such a good girl.”   Boredom never felt this bad, or violated.