Last week, as she drove me to the airport at the beginning of what would turn into a hellish 24 hour flight nightmare, Loo revealed to me something I hadn’t previously known about her.
She sugars. Herself. Down there.
Full Brazilian.
Now, beyond being completely and totally impressed (it takes balls for a woman to be able to give herself a full Brazilian!), I was also instantly excited.
Because in case you all forgot it – I spent 3 years of my life in San Diego. A place where Brazilian waxes were a common event. I always had to be bikini ready after all!
(Courtesy of Google Images)
Upon moving to Alaska though, my vaj-jay-jay hair kind of took a back seat on the list of priorities. First of all, I quickly learned that Brazilians weren’t a common occurrence up here in the great white North. So while I would have been able to ask any girl in San Diego to recommend a good waxer for a quick and easy “down there” clean-up; the girls up here looked at me like I had grown a second head when I mentioned the idea.
Second of all, in doing some research I came to realize that waxing (like everything else in Alaska) is ridiculously overpriced.
No less than $65 no matter where I looked.
I’m sorry, but the whole ordeal shouldn’t take more than 5 minutes. With no recommendations and no clue if anyone up here would even know what they were doing when it came to grooming my beloved lady bits, there was no way I was going to spend $65 plus tip to have my cootchie hair ripped out.
It just wasn’t going to happen.
I learned how to use a razor.
But the thing about razors is – they leave razor burn. And I have sensitive skin. So while I adjusted, I have spent much of the last few years missing my regular Brazilian appointments with a lovely German woman in La Jolla Beach who always finished the job as painlessly as possible.
And if she didn’t, she would push me back down on the table and tell me to stop being such a baby when I squealed.
I was honestly terrified of her. But she got the job done. Usually in under 3 minutes. And for a price I could afford.
If I could transport her to Alaska now, I would let her live in my empty room.
So when Loo mentioned that this was a skill I never knew she had (and that she used sugar instead of wax – something I’ve always wanted to try!) I immediately informed her she would be sugaring me.
I didn’t really give her an out there.
I kind of figured it would just be a slight variation to the typical girly slumber party. Instead of scary movies and pillow fights, we would rip each others cootchie hair out. As quick and painless as possible.
Talk about bonding time.
I immediately began the “grow out phase” down there. Because anyone who has ever gone for the full Brazilian knows that you first must forsake your razor for longer than is even kind of comfortable.
Letting it grow, so that there is something to rip out in the first place.
By yesterday however, I knew that I would be going out with Mr. Fix-It on Thursday.
And I also knew that I had a full grown bush “down there”.
OK, not quite, but… more hair than I’m used to or would ever prefer.
Certainly more hair than I would ever want any man in my presence to happen upon.
And let’s be real here. Thursday night is going to be the 4th date. I’ve known him a month. And spent the night with him twice already.
The fact that this boy hasn’t seen me naked yet is actually a serious show of willpower on my part.
We should all be proud of me. I’m pretty sure this is the longest I’ve ever gone with a new guy.
Which I’m sure does not say great things about me or my ability to hold out, but… it does at least say I'm improving.
And I’m not saying I’m going for the full Monte tomorrow night either, because in all honesty; with the pain I’m in right now I’m not even sure I could or would want to.
But I am saying that there is a distinct possibility that he could at least get a sneak peak at the glory that is me naked.
And I don’t want him to be blinded by hair when he gets that peak.
(Why is it that I always feel so compelled to share the inner workings of my brain here?!?)
So yesterday, it’s possible that in a momentary bout of panic I realized that I needed this situation taken care of ASAP. I called my favorite salon. Only to discover that they aren’t even open on Tuesdays.
Strike one.
Loo has been busy. I’ve known she’s been busy. I hadn’t really planned on us doing the whole sugaring thing until this weekend. But suddenly; time was an issue.
And so, I texted her. On the off chance that she maybe (just maybe) could make some room to help me tame the mane.
I’ve got to say here that I love my Loo. Because even though she’s got a million things going on, she said she could go ahead and sugar me tonight (Wednesday).
Of course, she had to cancel this afternoon when she remembered that she had a running club (yes, a running club – I’ve got to start hanging out with less active people - they make me feel like a sloth) event tonight that she couldn’t miss.
Strike two.
I only kind of gave her a hard time, before telling her that I of course understood.
And then I got on the phone with salons. Trying desperately to get in somewhere today. Thinking to myself that maybe this was for the best anyway – the first wax after years of shaving is always the most painful. Probably best to let a professional do this one, and then maybe Loo could teach me how to do myself from here on out.
After all, if I can give myself giant injections in my own tush and deal with the pain that is endo – I’m pretty sure I could teach myself to bare down and pull strips of wax off my own cootchie.
Finally I found a place that could get me in. A 6:15 appointment tonight. My car was in the shop, but I knew I could pick it up at 5. That would even give me time to run home and pop an ibuprofen before the appointment. Just to ease the sting.
At 5:00 a co-worker dropped me off at the shop where my car was being worked on. I may have made an appointment about a month ago to finally have a remote start installed in my CR-V. After 2 winters spent starting my car and running back inside while it warms up, this was a luxury I really felt I had earned.
When I walked in though, I was informed that my car wasn’t ready yet.
No biggie. I still had plenty of time. I would wait.
5:15...
5:30...
5:45...
6:00...
At this point, I was anxious. It would take me at least 10 minutes to get to the salon. I went up and asked what the ETA on my car was.
“They’re finishing it up right now.” I was told.
5 minutes later, I called the salon.
I was informed that they were completely booked for the evening, and that if I was going to be late they would just need me to cancel my appointment.
I looked out the window, and my car still wasn’t anywhere in sight.
I canceled.
Strike 3.
I’ve come to the conclusion that clearly my cootchie wasn’t meant to be sugared or waxed this week.
Perhaps Mr. Fix-It prefers an au natural look down there.
Not that I’m going to find out. No-sir-ee. I am pulling out the razors as we speak.
And yes, I said “razors”.
I’m thinking this job is going to require 2.
At least.
And possibly a hacksaw.
