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“For years, I’ve heard horror stories of the Brazilian bikini wax. Getting down on all fours, raising a leg like a dog peeing on a tree, spreading my butt cheeks to allow a complete stranger to apply hot wax in the most private crevices of my body; these didn’t seem like things I needed to rush out and experience (at least not in public). Friends of mine—amazing women with high pain tolerances who’d squeezed ten pound babies out of a ten centimeter hole—told me they’d cried from the pain of a Brazilian. What was I doing?” – Brazilian Wax Exposed – Let ‘er rip

First, I am so excited to share the small fact that I have lost all the weight gained post-op save for 1 kg. The 1 kg seems to be sitting quite comfortably on my bum and I love it lol. Second, I bought and I am comfortably wearing my first pair of sexy, high heeled Mary Janes post op. After being relegated to flats and a moon boot for so long, I feel like I can finally breathe *yaaaay.* Third and most awesome….It’s winter!!!! I love winter. The clothes, the food, the hockey (that I can’t play just yet) and did I mention he clothes? Love it all!

 Anyway, such silly matters aside, you know what I am coming to realise… there’s a lot of free advice floating around in the world. Stuff like if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again or practice makes perfect. What that advice doesn’t make clear is when it’s not applicable. I am starting to realise that not only is it not of universal application, it most certainly does not apply to waxing…or maybe it’s just me? Remember my first waxing experience? Yeah… I remember it too. That’s what makes the fact that I decided to “try. try again” so bizarre. You would think that with winter officially doing its thing, I would embrace a little extra fur keeping me warm in all the right places. Instead, I found myself having an internal conversation in which I convinced myself that my overactive imagination had exaggerated the pain I actually felt last time. My very convincing inner voice reminded me that the effect of the wax lasted for weeks versus the days achieved by shaving. The sneaky cow also reminded me how very sexy I felt with that extra little breeze passing cleanly through on its way to who knows?

Before I knew it, there I was in the waiting room of my local, too pink, beauty parlour. As soon as that first strip of wax was ripped off (voice drops to a dramatic whisper) I remembered everything. That little voice in my head is a pretty little liar! The pain was every bit as bad as I remembered and a little more. It didn’t help matters at all that the nice lady who was brutally ripping my hair out by the roots, after tugging out what really looked like a small thicket, took a good long gander at the wax that had freshly violated my nerves carrying its thick little wad of evidence and slowly said, “you grow a lot of hair neh.”

As I limped out of the parlour with the wind passing cleanly through my baby powdered lady bits I thought to myself, practise does not make perfect.

 “Are you really going back there with me?” I ask.

“Hell yes I am. Your wish is finally coming true. I will see your vagina. Plus, I really want to see the look on that woman’s face when she gets a peek at your plethora of pubes. Your copious curls, your abundant bush, the wild mane that if it sees a spark will start a forest fire,” she states.

“Are you finished?” I ask irritably.

“I think so. But give me five minutes and I might be able to get one more in.”
Tara Sivec, Troubles and Treats    

 

 

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