Sometimes speed is the only solution as you proceed with that never ending frustration – removing unwanted hair. Particularly if it is located in places unfit for polite conversation.
It was early one Saturday morning. That was my first mistake – anything before 9:30 am is supposedly to be early.
Anywhere I took advantage of this provided early time, when I was sure nobody would be around and particularly our youngest – a five year old with an indefatigable sense of adventure and curiosity.
I, in all my innocence, had decided to remove my pubic hair and after careful deliberation that that wax was the way to go. A simple means of elimination taken shaving out of the equation – stubble, the fear of cuts and pieces falling off, irritation and ingrown hairs made that decision easy enough. The driving factor – fear.
Another method was using tweezers, but I quickly realized I have no patience for that. A jerk and a yelp followed by another jerk and another yelp. (Jerk in both senses of the word – a yanking out and twit). The only other options I had meant having someone else do the work, but the thought of my mother telling me there was a reason why private parts were private, soon put an end to that idea.
So waxing it was and Saturday was waxing day – in the privacy of my bathroom.
A background in management meant that soon everything was ready and so was I. The longer offending hairs had been cut to a very short length and after soaking in hot water I was ready for the next stage.
The wax was ready and hot (you do not really want to know how and I am not telling) and the strips were next to the bath. I have in the past done some strange things including removing a trout fly from the scalp of a friend I once fished, but applying that boiling wax to my more tender parts took more courage than anything else I have ever done, with one exception. But I was smart, I only placed it on a small area on the right side in the joint between the leg and the rest …
A particularly tender place I soon realized.
After trying to wheeze and hold my breath at the same time, I put the strips on.
All this time I had been balancing on the bath, with one foot anchored on the floor tiles, the other bent at the knee and spread open as far as it would go with the foot resting on the edge of the bath. Not a pretty picture I know, but a man has to do what a man has to do.
As I grit my teeth I brave myself courage – if girls can do it, so could I.
I tried to grip the strip between my thumb and finger only to find it smeared with wax. Smart guy that I am, I picked a towel and used the ends as a glove. What I had not noticed was that the wax in place covered a much greater area than the strip. As I bought the towel to bear it obviously caught on to the wax. For a short time I was blissfully unaware of this as I continued to concentrate on my breathing. I waited too long.
A silent count to three and a really powerful yank.
I have never, ever, felt such excruciating pain. Tears were running down my cheeks as I tried to press the towel against my battle wound and in that same split second my foot slipped into the bath, forcing me forward. I believe I roared in pain, though I have been told it was more of a yelp.
The good news was the forward movement forced by the slipping foot – I was still in a semi vertical position.
The bad news was the forward movement – as I squashed a couple of private parts. I held on in semi consciousness until slowly I began to regain my composition.
I was taught never to give up so after a few hours that could not haveasted more than a couple of minutes I took the most courageous decision of my life. I went for the rest.
This time things went much better. Experience does help and that early squashing sensation was not repeated.
I was right the first time. Speed is of essence, you just have to make sure the right bits are covered at the right time.
There was one other little mistake I did make that fine Saturday morning.
Our bathroom is located at ground level and one should close the blinds, even on a Saturday morning.
I still have the mental picture of a five year old's face squashed against the window with great bulging eyes, and saying not a word. Although I am trying to explain what a nightmare is, my wife keeps on having some very annoying giggling fits.