I was on the home stretch to being hairless, when I felt the weirdest sensation and realised very quickly that Something. Was. Not. Right.
Late last year, I was vajazzled against my will.
I was at a beauty salon in my home town and I was booked in for a Brazilian wax. As usual I hadn’t requested a particular beautician. I’m not one of those who says “Oh I always go to so-and-so.” I quite enjoy the veil of anonymity that comes with a different person dropping hot wax on your lady parts every couple of months. I’d prefer not to be buddies with the person who gets that fun-fun job.
A quick and crucial bit of background before I continue with the story: I am not good with pain. In fact, I am a giant wuss bag. I don’t like blood, I don’t like needles, and I cry liberally and tell everyone around me when something hurts.
So when I’m having a wax, I try and pretend I’m somewhere else. I go into the ‘happy place’ (sometimes a vaguely inebriated place), I close my eyes and let the beautician do all the talking. I don’t concentrate on what’s happening. I don’t pay attention in the slightest.
On this one particular occasion — I was on the home stretch to being hairless, when I felt the weirdest sensation and realised very quickly that Something. Was. Not. Right.
I sat up abruptly and to my horror saw this woman using this tiny tube of glue to affix these sparkly diamante things to my lady parts…
Even if vajazzling doesn’t float your boat, you can’t deny there are some rather ‘creative’ applications of diamantes happening out there...
“Oh didn’t we tell you?” exclaims 19-year-old super perky and excited beautician lady. “This month we’re doing a FREE vajazzling for all our regular customers!”
I was vajazzled against my will.
“I don’t want vajazzling, thanks. I’m quite happy living a vajazzle-less life. Please take, um, just take that off. Now,” I said (trying to remain calm in the face of my newly-sparkly vagina).
“Oh no, don’t worry! It’s totally FREE!” she responds. As if somehow that makes this okay.
“Yes. But I don’t care that it’s free. I don’t want it,” I confirmed.
“We can switch shapes you know? If you don’t like the love heart, we could try a butterfly instead?”
Seriously. Do I look like the kind of woman who wants a butterfly down there? A butterfly?
To cut a painfully long discussion short, she ended up removing the offending sparkly things. Not before suggesting a myriad of little sparkly pictures (including the word SEXY) as alternatives for me.
I do not tell a lie. This actually happened. I am still in recovery.
Dear readers — help me to realise that I did not go through this horrific experience alone. Surely, there are others?