My beauty therapist and I have enjoyed a ten year relationship we tell each other stories, share tips, gossip and drink flat whites together. Ten years of waxing, pedicures, manicures, spray tans, massages, reflexology, lymph drainage and the occasional full body scrub. Last week she texted me to say that she was going on holiday. I was like What holiday? Alas, she was in fact going on the first holiday I can ever remember her going on and who can blame her?
Good for her I thought.The woman works hard -she deserves a break. I merrily went on with my day, until later that evening when I got in the shower… Looking down at my womanhood, I realised in a panic that I needed to get my wax on before she left! Usually I would just ring her up and go “Hi Kath, yes… See you at about 6ish after work?… Great!” I frantically bbm’d her “I need a wax before you leave”.I waited, it delivered. She read it and surreally I could see her replying “Sorry sweets, I’m leaving in the morning”. SHOCK.HORROR.
I got in bed and briefly contemplated going to a different therapist, I rejected the thought as soon as it entered my mind. Twas but a foolish flit of momentary madness! I could never trust anyone else with my Va-jay-jay (Unless my gyne took up waxing, but at that hourly rate??) because there are simply some things that just a handful of people can do, and I have heard horror stories – girls having their business waxed right off, I’m talking medical repair… plastic surgery, reattaching certain precious bits. Point is ladies, waxing is a serious business and should be treated as such.
So I took a policy decision, I would do it… Myself. Who better than me, myself – I have seen my therapist do it a million times. Can’t be that hard, right?
So off to Clicks I troddled, hot wax I bought, and there you go. I got home and got together all the things I thought might come in handy, an old towel, a huge plastic “Forever New” shopping bag to sit on and a wooden cutting board. So I popped the tin mug filled with wax onto the stove, it heated up and melted… As per the instructions on the insert, I waited for the wax to be the same consistency of honey, I applied a little bit to my wrist to test the temperature and thought “Ha! See I knew this was easy!” then I decided to do a little patch at the top… wax on… dry a little, wax off…Hmmm, it really was not that bad.
So I became more cocky with every patch, and when it came to waxing the most important bits, I was like “Yeah whatever, you can call me Kath for short, Whoohoo!” I applied the wax to (yeah you can use your imagination) and then repeated the wax mantra – Wax on… dry a little… taking a little longer… dry a little more… there was go.. Wax “Ooooooh holy (insert swearword)mother and sister of (insert belief system) what the (another swear word)!”.
Painful and unnecessary is the one way to describe what I had managed to do to myself. Perhaps Cruel and Unusual may be more apt..The wax was stuck, and there was no effing way in hell I was pulling at that patch of dried wax that was now attached to me again. This fast became the stupidest idea I’ve ever, ever had. I had vivid images of myself in Gardens MediClinic, with nurses whispering and giggling behind their hands.
After a while, I thought to myself, I’m NOT going to MediClinic, I have to stop being such a baby, I can so do this. I sprinkled some baby powder on the waxed area and put some baby powder in my hands as if I was an Olympic gymnast. With the same intensity as those world class athletes, I took hold of the bottom piece on wax, I stared in front of me and imagined a beach with tropical cocktails and happy smiling people. One… Two… Three…. Three and a half… Wax OFFFFFFFFFFFF!! Success!
Muhaha! I held that piece of wax up to the ceiling and said “You’re not the boss of me wax!” Suddenly there was a knock at the bathroom door “Babe, are you okay? What ARE you doing?”
“I’m fine, fine, I’m just… busy” I shouted back at my boyfriend. I had survived, and I was waxed (I know what you are thinking – Shut up.) However, I will never, and I mean NEVER do that to myself again. I have learnt that sometimes “Taking things into your own hands” is a really stupid idea and there are times when au naturale will just have to do, when waiting for the professionals to come back from their much deserved holidays. That is after all why they had to go to beauty school.