Yeah, you'd think that anybody in their right mind would surely abstain from subjecting themselves to such agony...
But as revealed by the title of my blog, it is pretty much established that I am NOT of the right mind. Therefore, not only did I try it once, but I am one of those suckers who continues to strip my bikini zone free of hair every month, hoping each time I would somehow grow immune to the pain, but always ending up disappointed at my body's inability to develop a thicker skin where I needed it most. The resulting yelling of expletives comes next, completing the whole routine that would be on repeat in four weeks time.
There is indeed no end to this torturous practice. Contrary to what the experts at the salon told me (note: the word "expert" here does not pertain to any academic or scientific title; it is more the "I do this tens of times a day"-kind of expert), I'm still waiting for evidence of softer, less hair growth resulting from my rigorous waxing. Somewhere in their lengthy explanations about the merits of waxing, they missed mentioning the inevitable ingrown hair problem. Yeah, THAT problem, yo.
Aaargh, I can sense the onset of my obsessive compulsive trait just by thinking about it! If there is one thing I hate the most about bikini wax, it is the sight of those little benign bumps where upon close inspection, a small pinpoint part of the underlying hair may be seen under the skin bump.
Lets not forget why women wax, which is to achieve the illusion of neat, properly tended to, smooth area where unwanted bushes tend to grow. So what did I do when I've gotten rid of the bushes but found that there were suspicious looking things lurking beneath the surface? I armed myself with the tweezer and started plucking of course! I digged, tweaked, yanked, and extracted; complete extermination was my sole mission. I even bought myself one of those little light attached to a headband thingy for increased visibility.
"Mommy, what are you doing?" came a knock on my bathroom door.
"Err, you've been there for a while. Are you okay?" my husband asked from behind the locked bathroom door.
With single-minded doggedness I remain focused on the task at hand (literally).
"Hellooo? Anybody there?" my husband's voice again.
"Mommy, Mommy, let me in!!! Why are you taking so long?" my daughter whines.
Bloody hell, can't they see I'm busy here? What's one got to do to have a little peace around here? I need to concentrate, for goodness sake!
By the time I decided I could pluck no more, an hour had gone by, and I've got a stiff neck from bending down for too long, cramps in my fingers, and my nether regions look like an excavation site gone haywire. Ewww! Too much information? Sorry.
So now not only must I embrace the one (or more like two, for me) week of gloriously feminine Pre-Menstrual Syndrome every month, I got this other thing to worry about. Well, that and a million other things, ranging from: why does the increase in my husband's income not correlate with the increase in the prices of consumer goods, to why am I growing white eyelashes? (seriously, I'm not kidding!).
Okay, back to the topic of bikini wax, shall we?
|Photo by brazilianbikiniwaxspa.com|
But at this rate, I'm really, really starting to question the sanity of having my bikini region waxed. Those solutions that are supposed to reduce ingrown hair? Have you ever tried them on? Holy cow, they hurt!!! Laser treatments? I'm definitely not exposing that area to any kind of laser beams anytime soon. And yet, left unattended, mine is the sort that would grow into primeval forest in record time.
So, will you still see me at my neighborhood waxing salon? Uhm, yea. Sadly, my vanity has been known to defy the laws of gravity, hence, all commonsense in general. And if there are some stuff in life that should be put in my Mommy List of "Do as I say, Not as I do," this definitely qualifies!