All methods have tricked me with their promises of easy, painless
removal - the Epilady, the standard razor, the scissors, the Nair,
the EpilStop, and now. . . The Wax.
My night began as any other normal weekday night. I came home from
work, fixed dinner for my son and we played for a while. I then had
the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next couple
hours: maybe I should use that wax in my medicine cabinet. I set up
my boy with a video and head to the site of my demise, um, I mean
It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you
just rub the clear strips in your hand, peel them apart, press it on
our leg (or wherever) and ignore the frantically rising crescendo of
string instruments in the background. No muss, no fuss. How hard can
this be? I mean, I'm not the girly-est of girls but I'm mechanically
inclined so maybe I can figure out how this works.
So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each
other, stuck together. I'm supposed to rub it in my hand to warm and
soften the wax (I'm guessing).
I go one better: I pull out the hair dryer and heat the SOB to ten
thousand degrees. Cold wax, my ass. (Oh, how that phrase will come
back to haunt me.)
I lay the strip across my thigh. I hold the skin around it and pull.
OK, so it wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it wasn't bad. I
can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am Sheera, fighter
of all wayward body hair and smooth skin extraordinaire! With my next
wax strip, I move north. After checking on my boy and verifying that
he was, in fact, becoming one with Bear and learning all about
smells, I sneak into the bathroom for The Ultimate Hair Fighting
I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same
procedure, I then apply the wax strip across the right side on my
bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching up
into the inside of the right ass cheek. (Yeah, it was a long strip.)
I inhale deeply. I brace myself.
I'm blind! Blind from the pain!
Oh crap. I've managed to pull off half an inch of the strip. Another
deep breath. And RIIIP! Everything is swirly and tie-dyed?
Do I hear crashing drums?
OK, coming back to normal again. I want to see my trophy - my wax
covered pelt that caused me so much agony. I want to revel in the
glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold the wax strip like an
Olympic gold medalist.
But why is there no hair on it?
Why is the wax mostly gone?
Where could the wax go, if not on the strip?
Slowly, I eased my head down, my foot still perched on the toilet. I
see hair - the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I feel. I
am touching wax. I look to the ceiling and silently
shout "nooooooo!!" And realize I have just begun living my own
personal version of "The Tar Baby."
I peel my fingers off the softest, most sensitive part of my body
that is now covered in cold wax and matted hair, and make the next
big mistake - up until this point, you'll remember, I've had my foot
on the toilet. I know I need to move, to do something.
So I put my foot down on the floor. And then I hear the slamming of
the cell door.
Vagina? Sealed shut.
Ass? Sealed shut.
A little voice in my head says "I hope you don't have to do #2
anytime soon. Your head just might pop off."
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying desperately to figure out
what I should do next. Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the
hottest water I can stand and get in - the wax should melt and I can
gently wipe it away, right?
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than is used to
torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. And I sit.
Now the only thing worse than having your goodies glued together is
having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of a tub. In
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, does not melt the cold wax.
So now I'm stuck to the tub.
I call my friend, C, because she once dropped out of beauty school so
surely she has some secret knowledge or trick to get wax off skin.
It's never good to start a conversation with "So my ass and hoochie
are stuck to the tub. She doesn't have a trick. She does her best to
suppress laughter. She wants to know exactly where the wax is on the
ass - "Are we talking cheek or hole, here?" she asks. She isn't even
trying to hide the giggles now. I give her the run-down of the entire
night. She tells me to call the number on the side of the box, but to
have a good cover story for where the wax actually is.
"You know that if we were working the help line at XX Wax Co. and
somebody called with their entire crack sealed shut we'd just put
them on hold then record the conversation for everyone we know.
You're going to end up on a radio show or the Internet if you tell
them the truth."
While we go through various solutions, I have resorted to scraping
the wax off with a razor. Boy, nothing feels better to the girly
goodies than covering them in wax, sticking them to a tub in super
hot water and THEN dry shaving the sticky wax off!
In the middle of the conversation (which has inexplicably turned to
other subjects!) I find the little, beautiful saving grace that is
the lotion provided with wax to remove the excess. I rub some in and
start screaming "It's working! It's working!" I get hearty
congratulations from C and we hang up.
I successfully remove all the wax and notice, to my dismay, that the
hair is still there. So I shaved the damned stuff off. Hell, I was
numb by that point anyway. And then I put the box of wax back in my
Never know, I may want to try it again