This one (for women) I first saw a long time ago, but the memory lingers on:
Waxing
All methods have tricked me with their promises of easy,
painless removal - the Epilady, the standard razor, the scissors, the Nair,
the EpilStop, and now ...The Wax.
My night began as any other normal weekday night. I came
home from work, fixed dinner for my son and we played for a while. I then had
the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next couple hours:
maybe I should use that wax in my medicine cabinet. I set up my boy with a video
and head to the site of my demise, um, I mean bathroom.
It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump
of hot wax, you just rub the clear strips in your hand, peel them apart, press
it on your leg (or wherever) and ignore the frantically rising crescendo of
string instruments in the background. No muss, no fuss. How hard can this be? I
mean, I'm not the girly-est of girls but I'm mechanically inclined so maybe I
can figure out how this works. You'd think. So I pull one of the thin strips
out. It's two strips facing each other, stuck together. I'm supposed to rub it
in my hand to warm and soften the wax (I'm guessing). I go one better: I pull
out the hair dryer! And heat the SOB to ten thousand degrees. Cold wax, my ass.
(Oh, how that phrase will come back to haunt me.)
I lay the strip across my thigh. I hold the skin around
it and pull. OK, so it wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it wasn't bad.
I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me! I am She-Ra, fighter of all
wayward body hair and smooth skin extraordinaire!
With my next wax strip, I move north. After checking on
the boy and verifying that he was, in fact, becoming one with Bear and learning
all about smells, I sneak into the bathroom for The Ultimate Hair Fighting
Championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same
procedure, I then apply the wax strip! across the right side on my bikini line,
covering the right half of my vagina and stretching up into the inside of the
right ass cheek. (Yeah, it was a long strip.)
I inhale deeply. I brace myself. RRRIIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind! Blind from the pain! ....... Vision
returning.
Oh crap. I've managed to pull off half an inch of the
strip.
Another deep breath. And RIIIP! Everything is swirly and
tie-dyed? Do I hear crashing drums? OK, coming back to normal again. I want
to see my trophy - my wax covered pelt that caused me so much agony. I want to
revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold the wax strip like
an Olympic gold medallist.
But why is there no hair on it? Why is the wax mostly
gone?
Where could the wax go, if not on the strip?
Slowly, I eased my head down, my foot still perched on
the toilet. I see hair - the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I feel.
I am touching wax. I look to the ceiling! and silently shout "nooooooo!!"
And realize I have just begun living my own personal
version of "The Tar Baby."
I peel my fingers off the softest, most sensitive part
of my body that is now Covered in cold wax and matted hair, and make the next
big mistake - up until this point, you'll remember, I've had my foot on the
toilet. I know I need to move, to do something. So I put my foot down on the
floor. And then I hear the slamming of the cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut. Ass?
Sealed shut. A little voice in my head says "I hope you don't have to shit
anytime soon. Your head just might pop off." I penguin walk around the bathroom
trying desperately to figure out what I should do next.
Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the hottest
water I can stand and get in - the wax should melt and I can gently wipe it
away, right? Wrong.
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than is
used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment. And I
sit.
Now the only thing worse than having your goodies glued
together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of a tub. In
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, does not melt the cold wax.
So now I'm stuck to the tub. I call my friend, C,
because she once dropped out of beauty school So surely she has some secret
knowledge or trick to get wax off skin. It's ever good to start a conversation
with "So my ass and vagina are stuck to the tub."
She doesn't have a trick. She does her best to suppress
laughter. She wants to know exactly where the wax is on the ass. "Are we talking
cheek or hole, here?" she asks. She isn't even trying to hide the giggles
now.
I give her the run-down of the entire night. She tells
me to call the number on the side of the box, but to have a good cover story for
where the wax actually is. "You know that if we were working the help line at XX
Wax Co. and somebody called with their entire crack sealed shut we'd just put
them on hold then record the conversation for everyone we know. You're going to
end up on a radio show or the Internet if you tell them the truth.
While we go through various solutions, I have resorted to
scraping the wax off with a razor. Boy, nothing feels better to the girly
goodies than covering them in wax, sticking them to a tub
In the middle of the conversation (which has
inexplicably turned to Other subjects!) I find the little, beautiful saving
grace that is the lotion provided with this torturous box of wax, to remove the
‘excess’.
I rub some in and start screaming "It's working! It's
working!" I get hearty congratulations from C and we hang up.
I successfully remove all the wax and notice, to my
dismay, that the Hair is still there. So I shaved the damned stuff off.
Hell, I was numb by that point anyway. And then I put
the box of wax back in my medicine cabinet! Never know when a mustache might
start to come in.
Tonight, I attempt hair dying.
... but this one (for men - and hard-hearted women) has just recently started to do the rounds:
A review of Veet for Men
After having been told my
danglies looked like an elderly Rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy
some of this as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I
nearly put my back out trying to reach the more difficult bits. Being a bit of a
romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus's birthday as a bit of a
treat.
I ordered it well in advance
and working in the North sea I considered myself a bit above some of the
characters writing the previous reviews and wrote them off as soft office
types...oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was. I waited until the other half
was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise
I went down to the bathroom. Initially all went well and I applied the gel and
stood waiting for something to happen.
I didn't have long to
wait.
At first there was a gentle
warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a
feeling I can only describe as like being given a barbed wire wedgie by two
people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head. Religion hadn't featured much
in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any
religion to stop the violent burning around the turd tunnel and what seemed like
the destruction of the meat and two veg.
Struggling to not bite
through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel of in the sink and only succeeded
in blocking the plughole with a mat of hair. Through the haze of tears I
struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen by this time
walking was not really possible and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in
the hope of some form of cold relief. I yanked the freezer drawer out and found
a tub of ice cream, tore the lid of and positioned it under me. The relief was
fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing
soon returned .
Due to the shape of the ice
cream tub I hadn't managed to give the starfish any treatment and I groped
around in the draw for something else as I was sure my vision was going to fail
fairly soon.I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and
tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so.I took a handful of them and tried
in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse. This was not doing the
trick as some of the gel had found it's way up the chutney channel and it felt
like the space shuttle was running it's engines behind me.
This was probably and
hopefully the only time in my life I was going to wish there was a gay snowman
in the kitchen which should give you some idea of the depths I was willing to
sink to in order to ease the pain. The only solution my pain crazed mind could
come up with was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had gone
before.
Unfortunately, alerted by the
strange grunts coming from the kitchen the other half chose that moment to come
and investigate and was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry
ice cream dripping from my bell end pushing a sprout up my arse while
muttering..." Ooooh that feels good ". Understandably this was a shock to her
and she let out a scream and as I hadn't heard her come in it caused an
involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected
at quite some speed in her direction.
I can understand that having
a sprout farted against your leg at 11 at night in the kitchen probably wasn't
the special surprise she was expecting and having to explain to the kids the
next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was didn't improve my
status...So to sum it up Veet removes hair, dignity and self
respect.
UPDATE: the earliest online source I can find for the second piece is
here.