There aren’t many beauty treatments that are so invasive and toe curling as a vagin` wax. And I don’t mean one of those little bikini waxes, I’m talking about a full on Brazilian, all off. Not one curly pube in sight.My first wax took place is seedy old Sea Point in the back of a boutique by a woman name Pat. It was in anticipation of a trip to Bali, where I went the previous year and discovered that spending 24/7 in a bikini on a beach filled with kak sexy European women requires some serious landscaping. Shaving daily is just out of the question.
To say I was nervous was the understatement of the century, no one, but myself and my Gynae had ever come as close to my poen as this woman was about to. My palms were slipping all over the steering wheel as I drove to my appointment which I had already cancelled twice. I found a parking, which is nearly impossible in central Sea Point and once at the door of the boutique/salon I almost made a run for it in the opposite direction.
My cousin Lara, always the go-to-girl when it came to ‘taboo’ subjects, instructed me to take a couple of Panado’s beforehand for the pain. The pain. But before we get to the pain, there is more.
I was instructed to remove all clothing below the navel, all clothing including my panties.
I lay naked on a massage table with my legs up like I was in a birthing position, trying in vain not to clamp my thighs together and cry.
The first application of hot wax nearly sent me through the roof; I couldn’t come to imagine what kind of pain that would induce in the more intimate regions.
Once it was done, and it took a while due to me breathing like a woman passing a human through her vagination, I felt like a changed woman.
I went to Pat once a month for this ordeal and the more I went, the easier it got.
Until Pat moved her salon. I never saw her again. My poor vag was left un-landscaped for a while till I discovered Mandy’s Fabulous Film Wax pot which you place in the microwave for a couple of minutes and then apply to your nether regions.
Let me just say this, I am a fan of DIY when it comes to fashion and décor but when it comes to waxing, ALWAYS have someone do it for you.
This last weekend I set aside Saturday for some DIY pampering, a pedicure, a manicure, dyeing my roots and massaging the ever expansion of my cellulite. Also on the agenda was a wax.
The BF left the apartment for a surf which I believe was more an escape from my terrible screams and dry sobbing that always take place during an invasive wax. It took me three hours to perform this.
The outer areas are the easiest, the, excuse me, ‘lips’ are the most sweat producing, cry inducing, toe scrunching, panicked area’s for hair removal. In some cases I have been such a coward that I walked around the apartment with wax stuck to my vajayjay for a while before I could muster the strength to rip it off.
I managed it in the end and by the time the BF returned I was ‘fuzz free’ and quite proud of myself.
He high-fived me for my efforts, men will never know the lengths we go to in the grooming department. NEVER!
Anyway, I am still on the search for a waxing professional and if anyone knows where Pat eloped to, please let me know, I’m scared that one day I’ll take off a little more than some hair follicles.