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.
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.