DIY Torture: The Day I Waxed Myself

My sister had just started her job as an esthetician at a fancy salon. Waxing down there was something that I had never thought much about (I've shaved for as long as I can remember) until she'd gotten this position. In truth, I was fascinated by her career and had a whole host of questions about what it's like waxing lady bits all day, with all the different shapes and sizes.

Mostly . . . does everyone come out looking like a porn star and smooth as a baby mouse?

I decided I was going to solve some of my own mysteries. It was my time to be 5 o’clock shadow free. However, I was not going to pay $100 nor did I want my sister inspecting my parts—I was going to do it myself!

Little did I know that this would be the most valuable lesson of "leave it to the professionals" that I would ever learn.

I should have known when I found the do-it-yourself waxing kit in the pet food aisle at the grocery store that I wasn’t in for a treat. Red flag no. 1—properly ignored. Yet the kit came with convenient pre-waxed strips, giving me confidence and the illusion of a no-mess situation. This was going to be way easy! What could possibly go wrong?

*  *  *

Once home, I lock the front door and get naked. Instructions? Blah, blah . . . who needs them? Pffft. I’ve got this! In painful retrospect that minor instruction about your pubic hair needing to be ¼ of an inch long—um yeah—that was important. 

In my determination to be porn-star-pinky perfect, I decide to double up! Why the hell not? Wax the front and back at the same time! I start with the back door first. I lay on the ground, spread my butt cheeks, apply the strips and then go in for the bald eagle. There are strips everywhere—I'm totally covered. I’ve got this! I smile to myself. This—and my vagina—are going to be awesome!

Mind you, these are not Crest White Strips that you leave on for 30 minutes. No. No. No. When the instructions (read after the fact) say you need to immediately rip the strips off—that is what you should do. However, in my attempt to cover all my real estate and make sure I'm not missing anything, I fail this minor—yet important—detail.

A few minutes go by and I rip the first strip off. Hmm . . . that’s funny, I don’t see any hair there? And where is the wax? I twist my body to get a better look and find the wax. In my butt cheeks.

They are now waxed shut.

I do my best impression of a constipated penguin and walk to the shower, hoping a little soap and hot water will get this sticky mistake off my genitals. Uh. No. Bigger mistake. The hot water steams up everything and now the wax has made its way down my inner thighs. Wouldn’t this make for some interesting porn? I am afraid to pee, certainly can’t poop and everything I touch is sticking to me.

Maybe now is a good time to read the instructions.

The instructions read: if you don’t get all the wax removed, place another strip over it and pull it off. OK, well, it can’t get any worse. Oh yes . . . oh yes it can . . .

I attempt to do it right and pull the strips immediately off. One . . . Two . . . Three!

Is that blood?

I’m bleeding. I’m bleeding a lot. Why? My skin is missing. What. The. Hell. The wax is now on my hands, stomach and back. My vagina lips are bleeding and my butt is still completely waxed shut. The only thing left to do is admit defeat. It’s time to call a professional—my sister.

After everyone finished laughing and pointing—oh what a jolly good time!—assholes . . . I learned that olive oil has many uses, especially getting you out of sticky situations. And after three long hours of the waxing lesson from hell, I was able to finally pee, poop and sit on the couch without sticking to it.

Never again.

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