One day while sitting on the toilet I looked down and noticed my hairy crotch.
Usually, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But I was staying at a family member’s house that was two hours away from a waxing place. I only had a dollar store razor to destroy my bush. I was absolutely desperate. I had to go to the beach the next day and didn’t want to look like a Halloween wig was sticking out of my swimming bottoms.
Then, I got a brilliant idea. Instead of trying to shear my stubbly twat with a dull ass razor, I would simply go to the local Walmart to get myself some wax. Skip the expensive razors. It was go big or go home.
So, I drag my ass straight to the hygiene aisle and find myself a $10 waxing kit, specifically made for the “bikini area” aka the “hooha area”.
I was overjoyed. Who would ever pay fifty bucks for a good ol’ brazilian?
I got home and put it in the microwave and set everything up. I washed and dried my business, set the strips up and then retrieved the wax from the microwave.
I carefully put a towel on the toilet (it was closed…Jesus, imagine if it wasn’t) and sat with the bottom of my feet touching, just like someone said in the one article I read. I was ready. I was prepared.
I took a popsicle stick and spread the hot wax with the direction of the hair growth, then put the strip over it. I waited thirty seconds and ripped. Nothing.
Maybe I hadn’t waited long enough. Tried again. Nothing.
I decided I would try on the outer edge of my vagina where it was less sensitive, near my leg. BIG MISTAKE. I now had a pussy lip glued to my leg and couldn’t stand up without my legs getting shut together by the wax. I still put the strip on. I waited and waited. Finally, I pulled the skin taut and pulled for all I had.
Immediately, tears sprung up. This was much more painful than the Vietnamese lady I usually saw. I was sure I had tore off skin. That I would see muscle.
I cautiously looked at the strip. Five hairs sat on it.
Five single hairs.
I was beyond pissed. I immediately stopped messing with my coochie hairs. I realized it was a losing battle. I decided to wax my hairy ass arms instead.
I only did one arm. Not because it was difficult or hurt too much. I just got bored.
It was only then I realized wax was everywhere. I couldn’t touch a single doorknob without getting it sticky.
I suddenly wished I had read the directions on the box better.
I got in the shower and scrubbed for all it was worth. Nothing came off. I turned the water on as hot as it would go. The wax still didn’t come off. I had visions of me being the first living wax woman for the rest of my life.
I dried off and waddled to the next room (remember, my legs were stuck together) to where my husband was. I explained very anxiously what had happened and demanded he looked up how the hell to get wax off of everything.
Finally, after fifteen minutes of nonstop laughing he gets up off his rear and finds his phone. Then he slowly turns around and asks if the kit came with any oil.
It was then, and only then, I realized what my Vietnamese waxing lady rubbed on me.
I don’t think that bathroom will ever be fully rid of wax, but I’m fine now.
Sometimes, life decides to teach you important lessons. This was one of them.
Please, don’t be as stupid as I was.