Men, this one just may not be for you.
Actually, wait…yes it is. But for the love of God, if you are my Father or Brother, please shut down your browser immediately. Trust me on this one.
We don’t do this for ourselves, we buy shoes for ourselves. We don’t voluntarily PAY someone 80 bucks to rip the hair from our vagina for kicks. You can’t walk around showing it off, “hey look at my freshly waxed vagina!” That is what handbags are for. We do this for you, so you should fully understand what your wife/girlfriend goes through, for you.
Let me start by saying that waxing hurts. Waxing is painful. Not painful like a bee sting, painful like 1000 bee stings, on your ladyparts. Yes, there are individuals that are far more experienced than others in alleviating the pain, but it’s just lowering the degree of pain. There is always pain.
You can drink a quart of vodka and take 2 Percocets and that shit still hurts. You know…so I’ve heard.
Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the specifics of waxing…I’ll break it down.
A bikini wax is removing any hair that would show outside of your underwear or bikini, preventing you from looking like Sasquatch.
A Brazilian wax turns you into a 9-year-old.
I personally like to leave a little bit on top, to showcase my ability to actually grow pubic hair. But to each her own.
You lay naked from the waist down, on a table with a magnifying light (like the one the dentist has) above your crotch as you hug your legs to your chest and prepare to be humiliated. Seriously, your gynecologist doesn’t even know you this intimately.
As you’re gritting your teeth, bracing for the helping of pain soon to come your way, you make awkward small talk as she smears hot wax from your tailbone to the top of your bush like she’s smearing peanut butter in a hot dog roll. Every crevice. And I mean every. You brace maniacally for impact, every muscle in your body tense with horrified anticipation. You lay there tucked in a little ball of mortification like you’re in midair trying to do an Olympic-caliber Cannonball.
Then, in a series of approximately 8 rips, she presses strips of muslin onto your waxy fur and rips it painfully from the follicle. That hair wants to let go about as much as Tom Cruise wants to let go of Scientology. I do not use the word rip lightly.
Obscenities fly from your mouth like someone exhibiting full-blown Tourette’s behavior. 5 women in the waiting room collect their purses and walk out when they hear you.
Rip and press. FUCCCCKKKKK! Rip and press. SHIIITTTTT! Rip and press. MOTHERFUCKKKKEEERRRR! Rip and press. GODDAMNITTTTTT!!! Rip and press. SON OF A BITCHHHH! Rip and press. FUCKERRRRR! Rip and press. BITCHHHHH!
I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m not. Bikini wax, not so much, that’s worth a couple good old-fashioned SHIT’s at best. This is not something you just do on a whim.
Come close, I want to tell you something….
Do you think all of those Olympic Swimmers wax and shave and oil like that every day?
No. They are preparing to compete in their event.
It’s preparation. For your event.
And that’s why we do it, because that’s where the payoff is.
You are going for the Gold.
I know there are still men out there that like a big old 70’s style Donna Summer Bush, whateves, it’s fun to switch it up sometimes, it’s like having a new girl. But as one who’s been on both sides of that coin, I would like to make a point.
For example, let’s say you’re trying to plant a tree. Do you just start trying to jam it in the ground through the grass and weeds and brush covering the soil? No ding-dong, you don’t. First you clear away the leaves, debris and all of the grass so that the soil is nice and smooth for you to dig your hole. It’s so much easier that way.
So I guess in the end it’s for both parties involved. Some of you may be thinking that it is crazy and why the hell would you put yourself through that torture? To you I say, don’t knock it till you try it.
I swear I can run faster after I get one.