Thursday, September 15, 2005


I took a good hard look in the mirror this evening. The Puerto Rican landscaper has been doing a sloppy job! (I knew I should of hired a day laborer) I have not gotten a decent waxing or threading since I left the city which is going on 3 months ago. Apparently, I can't walk a straight line, much less pluck one with a stencil as my guide.The Visa for the Indian girl who usually takes care of me is probably long expired. She couldn't have learned her skills outside the mother country. The hedges on the other side of the navel need trimming too. They will grow into a rainforest before I touch them again.

I have been that broke before. Broke and bored and maniacal thinking that I could tame the Puerto Rican wilderness to the east and west of each thigh by myself. I bought surgi wax once. You know, the kind you put in the microwave and heat up? No need for muslim strips the wax hardens to cardboard and you just yank it off from one of the edges. There I was, with a brand new bottle of the stuff, and time. A whole lot of time.

I stripped myself from the waist down, just like the pros tell me to do and I lay on my bed facing the mirrored headboard. Yeah, I laid down first, expecting my usual girl to just appear in a poof of smoke, before I realized I had to sit up to see what I was doing. Then I took in a breath and tried a test patch area first: outer thigh. No biggie, applied, yanked, yeah it hurt. Ridiculously so, but as they always said "La Bellesa Duele", (beauty is pain). My eyes watered, but the sight of that bald patch filled me with pride, ("I DID THAT!"). Then this is where I lost my mind. If a small area came off that easily and stung maybe if I did one side, and got the other side ready, I would be done really quick, and I couldn't lose my nerve. This is what I do. I wax up one side, then I waxed up the other, and stood there, staring at myself in my headboard mirror. This honey colored goo drying between my legs. It was easy! Piece of dayum cake I tell you. Why haven't I ever tried this before? That's when the phone rang, and I, the village idiot without a moment hesitation decide to get up.

I walked to my kitchen and answered the phone:
Long Pause before a Southern accent asks: " Hi, Kin I pleeze spik to Arlene Ostasee-O?"
"No." (And I hung up.) Dayum credit cards, don't they know I'm broke? It's not even 9 on Saturday, have they NO DECENCY! I work all week. They will get it when I got it. I know their hungry, they just have to wait. Of all the things to have to get up for, thankfully the boy was still asleep. His mother is walking around bottomless - HE BETTER BE ASLEEP!

When I get back to the bed and laid back down, yeah I did it again, (expecting my lovely Indian girl to help me), I look in the mirror to see the cocoon that was once my vagina. Apparently, when I stood up - either wax lip decided to get married, and fused together in union. I had no entryway and no exit, there was no escape! Death by suffocation. The panic began to course through my veins, and of course I began to sweat. Which in turn caused the sugar daddy caramel between my thighs to stop hardening and melt as well. As I tried to pull at it, long caramel strings stuck to my fingertips, THIS SH*T was NOT COMING OFF!!!

My friends were useless. After explaining twice for their hysterical amusement, I hung up. I called 911 and when the operator answered I lost my nerve and hung up. I felt the goo solidifying my inner thighs to my lips, my body became slick with panic at that point, and of course I wanted to pee.
I tried a razor that broke like a plastic fork.

I leaned my nether regions against the A/C to freeze it off.

I tried calling the triage nurse at Beth Israel, the number I got 7 years ago when I was pregnant with the boy. As embarrassing as it was to tell, the nurse offered me a solution = baby powder! I poured it on, which only caused it to be a powdery fresh smelling sticky goo.

I was too hot down there, and sweaty from panic, this was not working. I put baking soda on, tried greasing it off, melting it off (but the lighter scared me), wishing it away, promising God to let it dread up if he just got me out of this one, just one time, (I NEVER ASK FOR ANYTHING!). Finally, I just gave in to crying. By then the boy got up, so I had to function as normal, mommy the robot had to take over. Mommy always knows what to do. So for a brief moment, I became my own mother: ((((Go to the nail salon and pay them to take it off for you..)))) Like a child I sniffled, rubbed at my eyes and instantly became happy.

My entire Saturday was dedicated to the removal of the alien I housed between my thighs. I dressed quickly and ran to the nail salon up the block with the boy in tow. Of course it was packed for a Saturday morning, and Ling (that's her real name) gave me a look of recognition through her hazmat mask as I walked in.
"HIIIIIIIIIIYEEEEEEEEEEEE" she whined sweetly, smiling so her eyes closed. "What u need?Mani-core? Pedi-core?"....
"No a waxing." I said confidently as all eyes were on me. Every woman there was listening intently to my conversation. So, If I needed to explain that I was "special needs" I'd have a live studio audience to tell it to, complete with laugh track.
"Oh yeah, yeah..." She began to speak to another girl who was wrapping up the ridiculously long claws of a rastafarian woman. Really - nails should not be that long. That is just ridiculous, how does she wipe her ass? Or better yet - insert a tampon???EEEEEWWWWW Perish the dayum thought!

Ling made a motion towards her eyebrow, and I (still sweating under the A/c) bit my knuckle. She motioned me over to a chair in front of everyone and that's when I knew I had to act fast. I asked Ling if I could speak to her, and she nodded and stopped filing looking up at me as a attentive as a young school girl before a citywide.
"In Private...?" That's when the eyes began to dart across the room, and I began to sweat fat drops. "No credit, I sorry...." She said back to me as sympathetic as she could muster...
"I wish that was the problem," (I mumbled before offering up) "NO, no, that is not it, I wanna ask something else"....

She begged off to her customer and walked over to me. I went as far back as possible and began to ask the unspeakable. Could she take off my wax. She ushered me into a curtained back room and asked to take a look. Her eyes widened to that of any American Wasp I have ever seen.
"Why it look like that?" she asked, speaking about the gooey, milkish, sap that was oozing from my groin. When I explained the many ways I tried to avoid having it come to this, she looked back up at me, with the customary "come again" smile I get whenever I have a pedi-core, " I sorry, I cannot help you"... IF ling can't do it, I am doomed to die of Kidney failure. I picked her brain with my chopsticks of desperation, "WHAT CAN I DO TO GET IT OFF???"
She handed me 4 - 1"x3" muslin strips. "You go home, try to take off. I no want be responsible, IFEYE do it and no come off."No amount of pleading swayed her. I ran with my temporary band aid, before she had a moment to utter a word in her dialect and the mortification rained on my entire body. I hopped back in the car and began to have a panic attack. My panties were molding to it now. It was like the blob devouring everything down there. Would I still be intact when it did come off? Maybe it would take certain aspects of my anatomy with it when it came off???OMG! I love terrifying the hell out of myself.

I went to the beauty supply store, I get strokes of genius under pressure. Carmen the sales clerk was sympathetic to the plight of "my friend" who tried to wax herself and is "at home" with it stuck between her thighs she had to ask Mohammed about the muslin strips. She offered me the same 1"x3" strips.
From the corner of my eye I could see that granny with the indigo hair and supplies to make it Midnight Black had taken in a breath. The jig was up it seemed, "Um, I mean, I can't drive around anymore looking for strips for HER! My friend"...

Carmen gave me the ghetto neck sign for "whatever" complete with eye roll.

"Mohammed, the Brazilian sheets, I need the brazilians..."
Ahhhh, Mohammed, my knight in potbellied wife beater and open button down shirt. He wafted down the aisle with my ambrosia in hand. Lord, THANK YOU JEEZUS!!! In the immortal words of Titi Do-Owe. I love Carmen, I love Mohammed, I love the maker of Muslin strips!!! I have to remember to send them all thank you gifts! I exited the store and hurried home, promising the boy that if he gave mommy just 30 minutes of alone time to take care of a private "mommy thing" I would take him to Chuck E Cheese for 2 hrs. After bartering my alone time, I began to focus on my pants and the camel toe that formed from hot wax molding to my underwear and pants. There was no way to do it but one quick tug.
Who knows how long I blacked out for. A minute, 5. 10. I dunno. Free at last, free at last, THANK GOD ALMIGHTY I AM FREE AT LAST!!! OMG!!! EVERYTHING CAME OFF with my VIcky bikini cut panty! I hadn't experienced pain like that since birth. I waxed myself everytime I pulled down my panties - I was sticky for the next three days I assure you.

1 comment:

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- Lucas