After surviving a night of food poisoning in Bangkok, a day of Spa horror that left me Ronald McD, it was high time to kick things in gear and get ready for a visit from my special man friend. Boys, you might not know the lengths we go through to get things in line for you, but it involves a great deal of planning and preparation.
In fact, I do a bodily inventory to make sure everything’s in it’s proper place: mani, pedi, massage, hair did, and of course- eyebrows. The only missing piece of the puzzle was to get a leg and bikini wax hours before picking him up at the airport so that I would be silky like a Sultan’s bedsheets.
As Thailand is a country dedicated to spas, I imagined it would be super easy to find a place to get a fast wax – in and out in ten minutes. After the horrible spa experience the day before, I was a bit wary and decided to be pickier with the person who would be all up in my lady business.
Ladies who wax, you know that the experience isn’t usually that painful if the esthetician knows what she’s doing and is working with the right product. Hard wax clings to the hairs – not your skin- and rips that nasty fur coat off faster than you can say “ifeellikestevecarrellin40yearoldvirgin”. Since I wasn’t in the mood for masochism, I sought out a salon that could cater to my sensitive skin.
No Luck. In and out of ten salons who had only “roll on strip wax” which kind of feels like being caned. On my legs, I can tolerate it – but ain’t no one rolling honey on my hooha.
Finally, there was a glimmer of hope – across the street I saw a table of ladies who looked like they meant business. To hell with the traffic, I need a waxing STAT. Zigzagging through cars, barriers, and jumping over street rats I made it across six lanes of mid day traffic and arrived at my destination.
“Hi. I’d like to do waxing. Do you have hard wax?”
“Yes, hard wax okay! You pay 800 baht.”
In no mood to barter, I took it. “Legs and bikini 800 baht – hard wax?” I asked again.
“Yes okay, hard wax!” The lady in charge passed me off to a lady who didn’t speak any English, but smiled at me repeating “hard wax okay”.
I went into the salon, had a quick shower, jumped onto the table and laid a towel over my legs. It’s in your best interest to not think about what they’re doing down there while it’s happening, so I began daydreaming.
I was jolted from my peace and quiet by a massive blob of burning hot lava right over my love button, and her palm pressing a piece of fabric down with excessive force.
“OW! OW! OW! OW!” I scream while starting to fan myself.
The boss lady comes rushing into the room “too hot! too hot! this is not hard wax!”
“YESS this hot wax.. you want HOT WAX” oh. god.
“no- not HOT wax, HARD wax, no cloth, just wax”
“ohhhh. no. no have. can not.”
I looked at the wax she was using – sugar wax! She was applying it with a spatula that was slightly larger than two toothpicks, using a magnifying glass, two overhead lights and other contraptions.
Oh god, I think she just melted off part of my vagina. I needed that piece, too.
Suck it up, Brandy! There’s no time to waste between now and the airport.
I smiled, asked her to let the wax cool and laid down again. It can’t be worse than that initial feeling of fire.
You know what hurts? Waxing with a product that is inferior and way too hot. You know what hurts worse
than that? When they miss a hair and decide to re-wax that same place on your money maker.
“No, please, no – it’s okay. Don’t wax it two times – just once, I will take care of it.” I tried to sign to her that I needed at least a little bit of dermis left.
“Okayyy” she smiled, tossing baby powder around like it was a Holi Festival and maneuvering me into positions you usually have to pay extra for. What felt like 400 minutes of excruciating torture later, I had to call it quits – she was getting too carried away down there.
“Okay, it’s fine – thank you, I will just shave the rest off.” I gestured and tried to get up. Her hand on my chest kept me reclining. “Okay, okay. stay”
She came back with a razor. Oh no. Please. No- there’s no way she’s going to. Oh. yes. she. is.
There’s something about waxing that feels like there is a barrier between you and the esthetician, making it less awkward that they are doin’ work on your holiest of holies.
There is nothing between you and a stranger shaving your nether regions, except a whole lot of trust, fear, and self loathing for being too shy to say “um, please don’t drag that sharp object over my personal playground.”
Eventually, she released me from my painful captivity, and I ran to the restroom to get a good look at the situation. Red. Swollen. Ouchie.
The walk home was less than comfortable, and every step made me extremely aware of all the nerve endings in my panties.
Did I just pay someone to get S&M on me? I can’t believe she SHAVED me. Ugh. It makes me feel all uh-oh in my no-no.
The obvious cure for any humiliating story is to share it on the internet and wait for the commiseration to begin.
Have you ever had a waxing experience like that??