Having the need to look less like Harry from Harry and the Henderson’s in my south region, I made the appointment. My first ever appointment for a brazilian wax. It’s kind of hard controlling the anxiety that consumes you, when you go into this NOT knowing what to expect. My girl does it all the time, and swears by it. I now, ever so badly, WANT TO PUNCH HER IN THE FUCKING FACE! “It doesn’t hurt” she says. “You’ll get used to it” she says. “The lady who gives them is so gentle” she says.
Dear, Not-fucking-gentle-at-all Lady,
Stop telling me to fucking relax. You just placed heated wax on my squeeze-box and yanked so hard that you stumbled away from me. I get it, I know, my promise land has a little moss growing, but you pressed down on my thigh when you pulled the wax strip, and used more strength that’s needed to start a fucking lawn mower. My private eye can only handle so much pain before I eventually scream out fuck. And I’m sorry. I know we’re right in the next room and other ladies can hear us. But if I’m okay with them laughing at my pain because my vagina isn’t a leathery piece of bacon from being a rookie to your landscaping technique, then they can handle a fucking curse word. We were right to abort mission when we did.
Three strips in, four fucks given, and I look like a child with Alopecia. Go gently fuck yourself!!
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