I did it. I just succumbed to an unbelievable, inhumane, torturous act that can only be described as coo-coo-ca-choo. Waxing. By myself. On myself. Not my face or my arm or even my leg, but I went straight for the jackpot - the bikini line. I know, as you are sitting there cringing at my utter stupidity, let me just tell you that I have heard the horror stories, read the recounts of the brutal, painful atrocities. I know all too well the story of the lady that waxed her hoo-hoo and got stuck to the bottom of her bathtub. Obviously, I thought, these poor women didn't do it right. I read the box, heck I even got the low-down from the lady I purchased them from at the store. Surely if I could push 3 giant children from my body, I should be able to tolerate the discomfort of a little hair removal. Not so much the case.
First things first, kids are a-snooze in their beds. Read all instructions before even removing my pants. Make sure there is adequate and recommended amount of hair growth. Warm up strips between hands to soften wax. Apply to desired area and swiftly pull in opposite direction of hair growth. Voila! Instant smoothness with minimal redness (all normal). Are you friggin' kidding me? Minimal redness is me on the Equator for 8 hours with no sunscreen. I have a giant rectangular patch on my inner thigh where I chiseled off the strip. The extra kicker? I removed 1 (ONE) hair. And I was still very waxy. Thankfully, there were after-waxing wipes that I think were bits of sand paper doused in nail polish remover. I am hopeful that I can grow my skin back before Christmas. It looks like I will need to order a bathing skirt or perhaps stand proud as a beacon for what not to do to yourself when you are bored, overtired and just a little loopy. Shnikies.
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