Monday, October 29, 2012

HOmo birth control.

I'm fairly sure that I killed the magic today. By next week I'm going to be sleeping on the twin bed in the spare room with two floors between us.

I am conflicted about my body hair.

On the one hand, I acknowledge that it is twisted, strange, and wrong that women have it drilled into them that they are supposed to be hairless, and that having body hair is unattractive and unfeminine.

On the other hand, I find it real difficult to have warm fuzzy feelings about my underarm hair when exercise-induced chafing makes them look and feel like raw ground meat. Or when my leg hair gets so long that it gets stuck in my compression socks when I pull them off (that actually happened).

But mostly I am just pretty lazy about hair removal, and now that I'm an unemployed stay at home wife, I'd become extra comfortable in my furriness. I didn't think the missus had noticed.
And then last week Lisa had given me a not so gentle hint about my personal grooming habits by putting a 50% off Brazilian waxing kit in my basket at the grocery store. The only reason I didn't put it back was because it was a good deal.
There was a reason it was 50% off.
Tonight, I had finally run out of excuses. The dishes were done, I'd completed my three requisite job applications for the day, the living room was vaccuumed, I had nothing good to read, and we already watched the latest episode of Grey's Anatomy.

So I got down to it. I opened the lid and was pleasantly surprised by the lovely green colour. "This won't be so bad" I thought. "It looks just like chocolate chip mint ice cream. Yum!"
 I started out downstairs, in our room, but quickly realized that this was not a project to be undertaken in a cold, dimly lit, carpeted basement bedroom.

Lisa was in the tub, so I barged in and demanded that I be allowed to occupy the bathroom's floor space while she soaked. I knew I'd have to work quickly because my microwaved wax was already beginning to harden. This wax is stripless, so the instructions were simple. Slap 'er on, and yank 'er off. (Basically, I think. I didn't actually read them, but I'm sure that was the general gist)

And so I began. At first it wasn't so bad. The wax was warm but not hot, and the first few chunks were a five or so on the pain scale. Totally manageable, and I was being uber-brave about it to prove to Lisa that I wasn't a wuss, and I did this kind of thing all the time.

 Getting my fingers underneath the edges of the patches to pull them off was tricky, but I thought I had begun to get the hang of it. Until I left a patch of goo on for a titch too long.

Apparently reading the instructions might have been a good idea. Because in the instructions, it very clearly states not to let it harden, because it might adhere to the skin and become difficult to remove. Adhere. To. The. Skin.

Nuff said.

Me: Hmmm. This one's kind of harder than the other ones.

Lisa: Let me help. I can pull it off.

Me: (trying to play it cool) No, I'd rather not. I think it might be stuck to the skin. I'll just see if it softens again...

Lisa: (trying not to laugh) Let me see. I'll just yank it off, I'm sure it can't be stuck to the skin. It's just sticking to hair. (leans towards me) Don't be such a baby.

Me: (frantically picking at the edges of the rock-hard goo patch) NO. seriously. I'll do it in my own time. Just don't watch. Go away. Leave me alone.

Lisa: (laughing now, and trying to pry my hands away) I can't go barged in on MY bath. HOld still...Just let me do this. You're such a wuss.


Lisa: (hysterical laughter)...

Afer an hour, tears, panic, and me screaming at my girlfriend in sheer terror at the thought of having hardened plastic goo perma-welded to my sensitive areas, the crisis was over.

I have officially exposed myself to my lady as a hirsute, wimpy, stubborn woman who refuses to read instructions. I guess it was bound to happen some time, I just thought I'd be able to keep up the illusion for a few more weeks...

Also, note to self... Do not purchase discount hair removal products.

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