The one where I try waxing at home

Once a year, I splurge for a waxing job.  I do the whole kit and caboodle (you can decide which is which) and it's an expensive touch.  This year, the my regular lady was on mat leave and replaced by a woman who was less than efficient.  I ended up going back to her to make her touch up some key areas despite her telling me that "that's the way we all do it."

Since I am finding regular hair maintenance a chore I despise, I thought I would maybe try my hand at home waxing.  I mean, anything that means I don't have to shave daily and suffer through ingrown hairs, stubbly legs and painful gouges to my ankles, is a good thing.

I went to Walmart, bought myself a strip free waxing kit and came home.  The kit was "wild berry scented" so I figured it would be a nice sort of aroma therapy at the same time.

I let my hair grow nice and long, much to The Guy's dismay.  Welcome to marriage, honey!

Today was the big day.  I got my work area prepped -- tub of pink berry wax, instructions, hairy body parts -- and settled down to work.  First I noticed the stirry stick applying thingy wasn't included.  Looks like someone had snagged it out of the container.  I looked through the drawers and picked the closest thing I could find -- a spatula.

After heating the wax up and stirring it with the end of the spatula, I got down to work.  I figured my under arms were the most important things to deal with as they bug me the most.  I am the Homer Simpson of underarm hair.  I shave and, moments later,  I have a 5 o'clock shadow.

The wax looks and smells like Hubba Bubba.  I am not discouraged from my plan, though it feels odd to be using something reminiscent of Grade 6 trips to the corner store in order to remove hair.  Instead, I bolstered myself and slathered the waxy goop under one arm.

Then, I looked down.  A large glob of pink wax had landed on my tank top below the applied area.  With my right arm in the air, I frantically tried to peel the wax off my shirt.  Strands of pink bubble gum scented wax stretched into the air.  As I continued to pull and stretch, I felt like I had fallen asleep with gum in my mouth and was suffering some unpleasant consequences.

I gave up on the tank top when I realized it was time to pull off the wax on my skin.  Using the kitchen counter top as a way to keep the skin taught, I organized myself and prepared to pull.  Screeching, I pulled the wax off in a fell swoop and looked at the results.  Three hairs.

Three.  Hairs.

An hour and a half later, I had one almost hairless armpit, one armpit that was red and sore but still relatively hairy and I had dropped one piece of wax onto my lady parts that refused to be removed.

I gave up and shaved.