One Woman's Tale of Woe FUNNIEST THING I HAVE READ IN A LONG TIME.
All hair removal methods have tricked women with their promises
of easy,
painless removal - The epilady, scissors, razors, Nair and
now...the wax
My night began as any other normal weeknight. Come home, fix
dinner,
play with the kids. I then had the thought that would ring
painfully in
my mind for the next few hours: "Maybe I should pull the waxing
kit out
of the medicine cabinet." So I headed to the site of my demise:
the
bathroom. It was one of those "cold wax" kits. No melting a
clump of hot
wax, you just rub the strips together in your hand, they get
warm and
you peel them apart and press them to your leg (or wherever
else) and
you pull the hair right off. No muss, no fuss. How hard can it
be? I
mean, I'm not a genius, but I am mechanically inclined enough to
figure
this out. (YA THINK!?!)
So I pull one of the thin strips out. Its two strips facing each
other
stuck together. Instead of rubbing them together, my genius
kicks in so
I get out the hair dryer and heat it to 1000 degrees. ("Cold
wax,"
yeah...right!) I lay the strip across my thigh. Hold the skin
around it
tight and pull. It works! OK, so it wasn't the best feeling, but
it
wasn't too bad. I can do this! Hair removal no longer eludes me!
I am
She-rah, fighter of all wayward body hair and maker of smooth
skin
extraordinaire.
With my next wax strip I move north. After checking on the kids,
I sneak
back 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 apply the was strip across the right side of my
bikini
line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching down
to the
inside of my butt cheek (Yes, it was a long strip) I inhale
deeply and
brace myself....RRRRIIIPPP!!!!
I'm blind!! ! Blinded from pain!!!!....OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!! Vision
returning, I notice that I've only managed to pull off half the
strip.
CRAP!!! Another deep breath and RRIIPP!! Everything is swirly
and
spotted. I think I may pass out...must stay conscious...Do I
hear
crashing drums??? Breathe, breathe...OK, back to normal.
I want to see my trophy - a wax covered strip, the one that has
caused
me so much pain, with my hairy pelt sticking to it. I want to
revel in
the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold up the
strip!
There's no hair on it. Where is the hair??? WHERE IS THE WAX???
Slowly I ease my head down, foot still perched on the toilet. I
see the
hair. The hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I am
touching wax.
CRAP! I run my fingers over the most sensitive part of my body,
which is
now covered in cold wax and matted hair.
Then I make the next BIG mistake...remember my foot is still
propped up
on the toilet? I know I need to do something. So I put my foot
down.
DAMN!!!!!!!! I hear the slamming of a cell door. Vagina? Sealed
shut!
Butt?? Sealed shut!
I penguin walk around the bathroom trying to figure out what to
do and
think to myself "Please don't let me get the urge to poop. My
head may
pop off!" What can I do to melt the wax? Hot water!! Hot water
melts
wax!! I'll run the hottest water I can stand into the bathtub,
get in,
immerse the wax-covered bits and the wax should melt and I can
gently
wipe it off, right??? *WRONG!!!!!!!*
I get in the tub - the water is slightly hotter than that used
to
torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment - I
sit. Now,
the only thing worse than having your nether regions glued
together, is
having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of the
tub...in
scalding hot water. Which, by the way, doesn't melt cold wax.
So, now
I'm stuck to the bottom of the tub as though I had
cement-epoxied myself
to the porcelain!! God bless the man who had convinced me a few
months
ago to have a phone put in the bathroom!!!!!
I call my friend, thinking surely she has waxed before and has
some
secret of how to get me undone. It's a very good conversation
starter
-
"So, my butt and who-ha are glued together to the bottom of the
tub!"
There is a slight pause. She doesn't know any secret tricks for
removal
but she does try to hide her laughter from me. She wants to know
exactly
where the wax is located, "Are we talking cheeks or hole or
who-ha?"
She's laughing out loud by now...I can hear her. I give her the
rundown
and she suggests I call the number on the side of the box.
YEAH!!!!!
Right!! I should be the joke of someone else's night. While we
go
through various solutions. I resort to scraping the wax off with
a
razor. Nothing feels better then to have your girlie goodies
covered in
hot wax, glued shut, stuck to the tub in super hot water and
then
dry-shaving the sticky wax off!! By now the brain is not
working,
dignity has taken a major hike and I'm pretty sure I'm going to
need
Post-Traumatic Stress counseling for this event.
My friend is still talking with me when I finally see my saving
grace....the lotion they give you to remove the excess wax. What
do I
really have to lose at this point? I rub some on and OH MY
GOD!!!!!!!
The scream probably woke the kids and scared the dickens out of
my
friend. It's sooo painful, I but I really don't care. "IT
WORKS!! It
works!!" I get a hearty congratulation from my friend and she
hangs up.
I successfully remove the remainder of the wax and then notice
to my
grief and despair....THE HAIR IS STILL THERE.......ALL OF
IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. So I recklessly shave it off. Heck, I'm numb
by
now. Nothing hurts. I could have amputated my own leg at this
point.
Next week I'm going to try hair color......
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Why Women Are Crabby
We started to "bud" in our blouses at 9 or 10 years old only to find that anything that came in contact with those tender, blooming buds hurt so bad it brought us to tears. So came the ridiculously uncomfortable training bra contraption that the boys in school would snap until we had calluses on our backs.
Next, we get our periods in our early to mid-teens (or sooner). Along with those budding boobs, we bloated, we cramped, we got the hormone crankies, had to wear little mattresses between our legs or insert tubular, packed cotton rods in places we didn't even know we had.
Our next little rite of passage (premarital or not) was having sex for the first time which was about as much fun as having a ramrod push your uterus through your nostrils (IF he did it right and didn't end up with his little cart before his horse), leaving us to wonder what all the fuss was about.
Then it' was off to Motherhood where we learned to live on dry crackers and water for a few months so we didn't spend the entire day leaning over Brother John. Of course, amazing creatures that we are (and we are), we learned to live with the growing little angels inside us steadily kicking our innards night and day making us wonder if we were preparing to have Rosemary's Baby.
Our once flat bellies looked like we swallowed a watermelon whole and we pee'd our pants every time we sneezed. When the big moment arrived, the dam in our blessed Nether Regions invariably burst right in the middle of the mall and we had to waddle, with our big cartoon feet, moaning in pain all the way to the ER.
Then it was huff and puff and beg to die while the OB says, "Please stop screaming, Mrs. Hearmeroar. Calm down and push. Just one more good push (more like 10)," warranting a strong, well-deserved impulse to punch the %*#!* (and hubby) square in the nose for making us cram a wiggling, mushroom-headed 10lb bowling ball through a keyhole.
After that, it was time to raise those angels only to find that when all that "cute" wears off, the beautiful little darlings morphed into walking, jabbering, wet, gooey, snot-blowing, life-sucking little poop machines.
Then come their "Teen Years." Need I say more?
When the kids are almost grown, we women hit our voracious sexual prime in our early 40's - while hubby had his somewhere around his 18th birthday.
So we progress into the grand finale: "The Menopause," the Grandmother of all womanhood. It's either take HRT and chance cancer in those now seasoned "buds" or the aforementioned Nether Regions, or, sweat like a hog in July, wash your sheets and pillowcases daily and bite the head off anything that moves.
Now, you ask WHY women seem to be more spiteful than men, when men get off so easy, INCLUDING the icing on life's cake: Being able to pee in the woods without soaking their socks...
So, while I love being a woman, "Womanhood" would make the Great Gandhi a tad crabby. Women are the "weaker sex"? Yeah right. Bite me.
Send this to seven bright women you know and make their day!!! Or at least make them laugh a little.....
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