Don't even bother reading today, boys. This one is just for the ladies because men will never understand or appreciate this kind of female pain. I'm not talking about the pain of childbirth or even the pain of menstruation. I'm talking about the excruciating and ongoing torture of hair removal.
Head Esthetician, Alicia, and I agree that the notable abundance of unwanted (and unfairly unfeminine) hair growth on women must be due to all the hormones in our food supply. I'm pretty sure it's unrelated to the fact that my maiden name is Sasquatch.
For the last five or so years I have been religious in my devotion to waxing. Even though our family has suffered a few hardships; even though we sold our large, beautiful home and moved into a mud hut--dammit, I got waxed! I would sooner deprive my growing children of milk than go without getting all those ugly ass extra hairs ripped out painfully.
But now that I'm the bread winner around here--now that I work 24 whole hours a week at just above minimum wage!--I am treating myself ('treating' is a seriously awful way to describe it) to laser hair removal. Or, as the clinic refers to it "laser hair reduction." (Thereby avoiding any sticky legal wickets should the procedure not, in fact, be a permanent state . . . )
My first treatment in the five month process was today. Sweet, young, fresh faced Alicia led me to the dungeon--(strike that)--the treatment room where she took great pains to lull me into a happy state of mind with no worries whatsoever about the upcoming agony.
She showed me the cute little ultrasound wand (ultrasound--can't be that bad, right? Just like when I was pregnant and they showed me my sweet babies.) She described the almost painless procedure and placed the protective goggles over my eyes.
Yeah. Not so much protective goggles as a blindfold for the damned.
At first it wasn't too bad. Kinda like an occasional pin prick. By a pin dipped in ACID.
In the areas where there stood a lone tree, it wasn't so bad. But as soon as she got to the thicker underbrush--O.M.G.
"How is the pain?" she chirped. Bitch. "On a scale of one to 10 with 10 being the worst pain you've ever had?"
What I was thinking was, "I've endured two harrowing C-sections. I know pain. I lived to tell about a root canal where the doctor insisted on jamming a sharp instrument directly into the nerve and cackling manically. I know pain, sister!"
What came out of my mouth was, "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!"
Did I mention the nauseating stench of burning hair?
And not only did I sign on for 5 months of this hellish, self-induced punishment, I added the bikini area to the docket starting next month. You know, because I didn't have quite enough fun today . . .
And one last note to the guys (assuming you're still reading--which I expressly told you not to!) I know it's all the rage now for y'all to denude your naughty bits, but that's usually with a razor, isn't it? Until you perform that bit of maintenance with scalding hot wax or the destructive waves of ultrasound technology or that other procedure that ends in 'lysis' (the medical suffix for death) you are not even qualified to join this discussion. I'm just sayin'.