I cringed every time I opened the bathroom cupboard door and saw it sitting there, daring me to try. I've been professionally Brazilian waxed a couple times this year, and though it's no walk in the park (it's more like a forest), it's easy to recover from and the results are outstanding. So when I saw the box in the grocery store, I smugly put it in my cart and rejoiced in my hairless yoni resourcefulness. Besides, I'd seen them wax me twice now. I knew how to do it. I have a friend who told me SHE did it! How hard could it be right?
I took the box up on it's triple dog dare yesterday.
This is when everyone who's ever used an at-home-wax-kit on their yoni is cringing and sitting back in their chair preparing for the gore which this blog post is about to become.
- Heated wax: Check!
- Instructions read and nearby: Check!
- Oversized popsicle sticks: Check!
- Swaths of hair yanking paper: Check!
I started by smartly trimming things up and had myself a private little chuckle as I remembered Jason Bigg's character in American Pie Wedding where he shaves his pubic hair before his wedding and tosses it out of the window where it gets accidentally blown onto the wedding cake.
That's about where the humor in this whole mishap ended.
I tested the wax temp on my wrist, and then laid down on my towel in the bathroom, got a stick and applied the wax to my unsuspecting bits. The hair yanking paper applied, I pressed down firmly and quickly removed the paper, per the directions. The memory of this specific sensation of pain all came flooding back from my cerebral cortex. OUCH! I quickly glanced at the paper, expecting to be gratified. Nothing but wax. "WHAT THE FUCK?" I searched my brain for a reason and came up with nothing. So of course I tried again. RIIIIP! OUCH!!! Nothing again. After a few attempts I realized that I was not going to be able to pull hard enough to produce results because I was starting to freak the fuck out. My brain was halting my ability to inflict any further pain on myself. That shit hurts and it hurts bad. And to not be actually removing any hair, but instead just yanking on it, well fuck that. FUCK THAT!
So I'm laying there with wax covering half of my girly hemisphere, wax on my wrist, wax on my inner leg, wax everywhere the paper touched, and start wondering how I'm going to dig myself out of this mess.
I could hear "Calliou" and his annoying little whiny voice playing in the next room where my 3 year old was watching on my computer. Ugh. At least Max was occupied and happy and not going to walk in on me and be traumatized for life.
I reached for the "after wax oil" and applied it, hoping desperately to remove the wax. It worked a little bit, but I needed a full fix, so I sat on the ledge of the bathtub and attempted to shave.
By the way, body wax + razor = highly ineffective gluey razor.
An hour and 2 razors later, and several interruptions from Max, who wandered in, discovered my plight and offered his most vile "EWWWW!!!" comments, I was still sporting a 5'clock shadow, but I didn't care at that point. I used more oil to remove the rest of the wax and hopped in the shower, disgruntled. Then I noticed that the bathtub floor was covered in bits of curly hair covered wax drops. Fuuuuuck.
At this point I had like 12.3 minutes to finish my shower, dress the kid and get to Aric's school to pick him up, so the hairy bathtub was going to have to wait.
I'm now resolved to just suffer through the grow out, learn my lesson and pay professionals to do what they're trained to do.
Just another one of those "don't attempt this at home" lessons.
Lesson learned and filed under "if you've paid a professional to do this, you are probably not qualified to do it yourself."