TMI: Too Much Info (You've been warned)

If you asked me to roll around on glass, or dance through fire, or slather myself in acid I wouldn’t do it. If you insisted that I pay for it you would be met with either laughter or a slew of curse words worthy of any pirate or 8^th grader feeling newly grown. The idea is too ridiculous to even properly contemplate because…well, why would you?

But somehow, when the glass and fire and acid are translated into hot wax – which to be fair feels like all of the above at one point or another – not only do I partake, I hand over wads of cash for it. 

I’m shaking my head at myself, as much as that is physically possible, so need to shake yours.

I never used to wax. Hell, I didn’t shave for years, and once I started my sister complained I didn’t do it nearly enough. I couldn’t be bothered. My armpits are sensitive and who has the time (read inclination) to do that as often as is socially acceptable.

I wish I was of the old guard. Black women that never thought to do that –whether because their hair was so faint it didn’t matter anyway or simply because it was taboo- it was still win win. They didn’t shave and no one expected them to. (For years I was a self-appointed volunteer to be a part of that cadre of women even though they weren’t taking new members.) 

For the longest while I didn’t shave my legs. When I finally did it was out of curiosity and a desire to not have that strange sock line at my ankle where my hair abruptly stopped growing, as if it were a vampire and that was the perimeter of shade.

Once I started shaving the process felt so futile. My legs would look smooth but within a day or two I could feel the stubble growing back. Who wants spikey legs? Add to that, my skin is café au lait, heavy on the lait and my hair is dark brown. The contrast between my skin and the dark hair in my follicles always announced the arrival of hair long before a new strand poked its head out. 

So why waxing?

Last year a friend of mine was utterly horrified to find out that I didn’t wax. It became a conversation that involved other friends. Suddenly there were voices rampant with concern. And while I pride myself on my ability to ignore peer pressure my curiosity was piqued. 

Actually, it was less curiosity and more laziness. My friend pointed out that among the many benefits of waxing was the long lag time between maintenance sessions. The implications for summertime were apparent…swimsuit season without the constant upkeep. 

“I’ll try it. Why the hell not?”

The “why the hell not” was demonstrated to me years ago when I was a Peace Corps volunteer in South Africa. My family had come for a visit and we were lounging at a backpackers’ in transit to or from someplace else. My friend Z, an old head at waxing, offered to wax her friend’s unibrow and my sister’s legs. My sister shrugged and grinned and shot out a leg for wax.

Z looked happy – ecstatic really – we should have known. Hot wax in the appropriate place on both parties and Z went in for the kill. First she pulled the strip of cloth from her friend’s brow. The friend’s hands shot to her forehead as if she was covering a wound. And if the bright red spot spreading across her forehead was any indication, she was covering a wound. But before my sister could take a hint from the eyebrow fiasco Z reached over with as much glee as I’ve ever seen and pulled the first strip from my sister’s leg. The reaction was the same, only on a lower extremity rather than a forehead. And since my sister is a beautiful dark chocolate color there was no obvious sign of trauma…other than the audible one. She shrieked like a banshee and then became a liquid streak headed for the bathroom where she tried to cool the burning sensation on her leg and remove any residual wax.

Like I said, I should know better.

And still I signed myself up for waxing.

Vanessa is as nice as they come and puts you at ease. That first time she waxed me – yes I said first, not only- it wasn’t nearly as painful as I’d expected. And the results were so long-lastingly-silky-smooth. Then I went back and it hurt more than I expected but well within thresholds. Now I was hooked. Only I was cocky too. Who needs to stick to the suggested timeline for maintenance? I’m cheap, I’ll come later and all will be fine.

Except it isn’t. 

The longer I go between waxing the more excruciating it is. I barely wince when I keep to my schedule but tonight…tonight was the first time since before thanksgiving. That, in case you don’t remember, was November. It is almost February.

So tonight I paid Vanessa to roll me in glass, and dance me in white hot flames, and slather me in acid… But boy am I silky smooth!