Guess what just went down?
I just got my crotch deforested.
And it went well, so well I actually left the salon beaming.
I was all geared up for it to be as bad as or worse than the last time –
But I had to do it because tomorrow I leave for war-torn London, and I need a smooth babylike mound in case I get killed by rabid teenage delinquents and there’s a post mortem and a hot doctor sees me naked.
I was resigned to meekly taking my punishment, lie back and think of Britain, while some joyless bitch probably jealous of my thick lustrous head-hair tortures my innocent genitals with hot wax while making snide remarks about my borderline hirsuteism.
And, as usual, I was WRONG.
Usually I’m wildly overconfident about everything, and it goes pear shaped.
So I rush back from work and give the vaginal area a good scrub, dry off, put on a nice dress that can be lifted for easy access, run out the door, realise need to pee now, go back for a pee, wash again, dry off… leave properly this time.
Arrive and am instantly convinced this is going to be awkwardsville. Three perma-tanned teenagers with drawn on eyebrows huddle around the counter giggling. They are the beauticans. Fuck. Fuck. These girls will judge me and think I’m not pretty enough. Garrrr nooooo… I try to arm myself in being more successful than them, so maybe they won’t consider me a failed peer, but rather a different category of adult and maybe they won’t judge me so much.
This is my little defence mechanism, don’t knock it, it at the very least has placebo benefits for me.
So I whip out my kindle and start reading serious things, and sit like a lady (or whatever approximation I could manage)
And then one of the girls calls me into the little cubicle, instructs me to de-clothe and lie on the bed thing, and I do so, and holy shit this is happening again, I want to go home, I don’t like this. She comes back, begins whicking off my leg follicles.
Another bitch comes in, this time slightly more normal looking and less drag-queeny.
She asks if they can double up on me, can I handle two at once?
I was determined to say NO if they asked me, but again, I’m on a table and my crotch is out in the open. I say yes… legs, that’s fine… just not the bikini.
Sure ok, and she begins.
Lie back and think of London.
I’m going to London tomorrow, yay!
Except, riots. Fucking scumbags out causing havok and possibly setting fire to houses near me, or at the very, very least, causing pubs to be closed when I want to go drinking. Please don’t fuck up my holidays, nasty teenagers.
I know, people are losing their livelihoods and houses- I’m not a heartless bitch, but these holidays are super important to me and as a selfish person I can’t help but feel like it’s partly the world conspiring against me to destroy my chances of a decent social getaway. Last time I travelled, pilot strikes were threatened. Before that, there was a freaking volcano spewing engine-hating ash everywhere. I just want to go out on the lash and get hit on and be a bitch to 90% of the people who hit on me. It’s my right, I work enough…
I do feel bad for the Londoners, also, those children need to be taken over someone’s knee and spanked until they’re whimpering and grateful they even have blackberrys. I think it’s bollocks that people are like “oooh poor young people are having their youth clubs shut down, it’s no wonder they did something like this” and then BBC world news switches to footage of Libya or some other place I’m wildly ignorant about and it’s like, they don’t even have smartphones to coordinate rampages of their cities, and I don’t even have a blackberry either so a little perspective, people.
This stream of thought distracts me from tensing and increasing the pain for a bit.
And then we move on to the piece de resistance, the groin area. The first girl leaves us and the second, better one began ripping out the hairs that least want to be ripped out. Stop! They scream as they are yanked like cesarean babies, hundreds at a time… We want to stay plentiful and long, and trap sweat and intensify its odour so you smell like a ripe fuckable monkey!
I whimper a little.
She goes straight in for the kill and gives me a landing strip, I actually wanted a triangle because that means less of the really painful waxing, but a landing strip is fine. I’ll make do.
She gets right in there from the start- other beauticians have had me hold my skin taut or to one side with my thong covering whatever isn’t getting waxed right then, but this girl lifts my skimpy horrible undies completely away from my body and pats powder down firmly and yanks and it’s over, the worst part anyway, before I even had time to consider if she’s coming on to me. She had my holding a leg in the air but it’s all very quick and I barely feel ashamed at all.
Then she pulls out some cream- and where most beauticians will rub it on my legs then hand me some to do my own crotch, she just pulls my undies out and sticks her hand down there and gives me a 20 second fucking VAGINA massage. It was actually pretty nice once you get over- and I didn’t- the part where some random woman just without warning, stuck her hand down my pants and rubbed lotion on me. I was still reeling when she commanded I turn over.
She finished my legs and then asks “do you want me to do your ass?”
She pried my cheeks apart matter-of-factly and whipped off the offending follicles.
Then the lotion made an appearance. She wedged the side of her hand in between my ass crack and lotioned me up some more.
I was again running the “she’s coming onto me, I know she is” delusion through my mind when I realised I was mentally fucking with the first good beautician I have found. She rocks my waxing world, and I’m there getting all “ewww lesbian, gross,” and I should grow up and be a mature adult and stop getting my kicks sniggering at girls touching my front-bottom.
So I thanked her very much, and hobbled out to pay.
And guess what it cost?
Top half legs, bikini, ass, and all..
Yep. It cost me 4 euro more the last time, and I was abused and mistreated and I didn’t even get a rub down of my lady parts, just a bit of confusing leg-touching.
I have finally finally found a place I will go back to. I’m a little bit in love with that girl, she made me feel like I was a baby having its nappy changed, and I didn’t even give a crap if she saw my EVERYTHING.
Anyway, I’m happy.
Just hope London is all sorted out tomorrow. I really really don’t want my holiday to be shitty.
I want it to be sexy and fun and drunken, not… stuck inside some house in fear of arson attacks.
Ok. Must stop procrastinating and pack my fracking suitcase.
And pare it down to one suitcase, because this shit is ridiculous and I don’t want my stuff to get looted.