|Where the hell is Skipper? (Image: www.ry.com.au/ontrend/brazilian-waxing-bare-all-down-under/)|
My appointment was last night at 7pm, which meant I had to sweat it out (literally) all day long. I was so nervous all day I could barely focus.
After all, what could be more nerve-wracking then a stranger approaching your nether-regions with hot wax?
It was a no-pants-dance of epic proportions, worse than a gyno appointment. Because I mean, doctors HAVE to be professional. This was one of my peers. A lady, who no doubt had seen more va-jay-jays than she'd like to admit, and knew what was weird and what wasn't.
She instructed me to strip and lie on the table covered with a sheet, which I did, feeling a little like I was about to undergo an alien experiment.
Suddenly, insecurity flooded over me and I felt 12 again. What if mine wasn't NORMAL? What did she really think? Did she appreciate that I had spritzed a little Japanese Cherry Blossom down my trousers?
She was very professional, and quick, which I appreciated. And I giggled and yelped through the entire procedure with as much maturity as I could muster, lying sprawled out nekked in front of a stranger.
She has me on a strict 4-week schedule now, which I'm sure is some kind of horrible corporal punishment. And as soon as I'm able to put my pants back on without wincing, I'll let you know how I feel about the results.