de-hairing (lyn)

I am leaving tomorrow for a few days on the Cape.  I need to get ready.  Packing and a manicure are easy.  It’s the requisite bikini wax I dread.

I’m taking advantage of a free offer from the new European Wax Center that recently opened around the corner from me.  I remember getting my first bikini wax years ago.  “This one will hurt, but after you’ve had a few, it’ll hurt less and less until you barely feel it anymore.”  Decades later and it still hurts as much as the first time.

I make an appointment for this morning.  The European Wax Center is a big step up from the inexpensive wax, hair, and threading salon where I usually go.  What used to be a video shop has been transformed into a pristine, therapeutic-looking environment, with separate sterile rooms for the waxings.  I am introduced to Stephanie who will be my waxer for the day.  Sort of like, “Hi, I’m James, and I will be your waiter today.”  Only Stephanie, in minutes, will be focused on something far more intimate than my food order.

The little room I enter is spotless.  I immediately feel relaxed, despite what is to come.  Instead of seeing a big vat of translucent honey-colored wax awaiting me, I see what looks like a vat of hot tar.  Stephanie begins stirring this thick batter and asks, “Have you ever used hard wax before?”  I’ve never even heard of it.

Stephanie applies the molasses-like substance to my bikini area.  She lets it harden, and then rolls it off.  Presto; the hair comes off too.  It doesn’t hurt, she’s done in minutes, and I leave beach-ready.