Beauty

uncomfortable situations

when you’re getting a brazilian

Just like millions of other women, I willingly let myself get tortured every month. Craziest part of it being, I pay a shit ton to get it done. Once every four to five weeks, I hop on my bike and head to the waxing salon, to walk out thirty minutes later completely silky smooth. It’s easy to start throwing feministic objectives into the mix here, but I’m going to leave it for what it is right now. The first time I went was about seven years ago, and I have been going back ever since. At one point I even saw my waxer more than I saw my own friends and so we would cover all aspects in life from work to friends and our love lives. I mean, I was already overly exposed as is, so why not share other intimate details. However, about a year ago I switched salons and now I find myself going to one of the most popular salons in town, but luckily the process is still quick and almost painless. Or perhaps I’ve just gotten used to the pain by now.

“I find a differently lady between my legs every time I drop by for a visit.”

There’s one downside to this new salon though. Instead of having one steady waxer, I find a different lady between my legs every time I drop by for a visit. It doesn’t bother me too much because we all have a vulva that needs a bit of grooming and if it freaks you out then you should question why you’re even there in the first place. But no matter how used to the pain I am, I’ll never get used to lying in their chairs with my legs spread like I’m paying a visit to a gyno. Bright lights and everything. Don’t even get me started on the ‘backside’ which requires you to lie down on your stomach spreading your butt cheeks so that the lady can, uhm, well, you know, reach the area she needs to be at. So either way, it’s a little awkward.

Usually I lie down on the table, the lady comes in and there’s some small talk about the weather and how much we both need a vacation, which all in all takes a mere five minutes. Then she does her thing whilst I refresh Instagram for some distraction and then I’m out the door in no time. Easy as pie.

But then yesterday happened. I went again. And let me tell you, it was quite the change from my normal routine. The lady doing the deed was a little too interested in what I do. “So, do you have a day off today? Or do you work from home? As a freelancer?” Sooo, I mumbled something along the lines of “yeah, uhm, something like that, *cough*, so about that weather we’ve been having…” She deferred the convo back to my job in no time, so when I said: “I write articles for a few companies here and there, it’s no big deal, kinda project based.” And then she got me. “Oooh, so you write! That’s awesome. About fashion and such? For magazines? Or for blogs? And do you travel a lot of the job and visit fashion weeks? Do you happen to be on Instagram?”

Call me paranoid if you must, but I swear she either follows me on Instagram or reads my articles here in Amayzine. Her questions were a little too direct and precise. Horrific. It’s one thing to be taking care of my private parts but you can at least let me be anonymous about the rest of my life. I pretended to work in ‘concept development’: how vague can you get? But her questions worried me so I panicked.

As always, it was over in a jiffy although this time I left the salon feeling slightly ashamed. So Miss Waxing Salon (I hope you’re reading this) hi. No, I don’t work in concept development. I write more than I may have lead on. How about we keep it on the DL, okay?If if I happen to land on that table of yours again, just pretend like you have no idea who I am and just ask me about my weekend or let’s discuss the weather. Thank you very much.