Brazilian Wax Not For The Faint Of Heart

An amazing Brazilian Experience happened mid April of 2009. This was not your typical testosterone-filled mix martial arts bouts designed to know who the best big bad fighter. This one was more private but perhaps equally nerve-racking – but memorable none the less. After much contemplation I was able to gather whatever remaining courage to actually get the ever famous (or infamous) Brazilian Wax.

Having two other companions with me and loads of reassuring words, I anxiously entered the waxing salon. The first step was all that mattered…I was already committed. To turn back is to admit I was scared. The little girly voice inside of me kept saying that there is no shame in backing out. But the pseudo male hormone called pride pushed me even further down the pit. The news that I was to go first was distastefully accepted. Though I fought hard to keep a straight face and hide the gazillions of butterflies – and some other squirming insect-like creatures in my gut. It was a hard-fought battle but still everyone knew I was nervous as hell – perhaps the profuse sweating was a give away.

In the cramped cubicle, I changed into the gown they provided. Afterwards I lay on the bed and moved my eyes around the place. The hook where I placed my clothes, the small table and mirror on one corner and the thick curtain that served as the door, all were placed so closed that I felt I could not breathe. Then I notice a crucial detail…the walls were not thick enough to muffle the shrieks of pain (not that I shriek out in pain).

The waxer came in and prepared the materials. As she turned around I asked a question that I already know the answer…doest it hurt/? With a reassuring tone, she said that it all depends on my pain tolerance. And from that moment on I pleaded to the little girly voice not to cry out in pain.

As she carefully moved my gown aside, it dawned on me that it’s not the pain that’s bothering me. It was the idea that a total stranger will be touching me in private places. I don’t mind the pain. I just wanted the private areas to remain private! A litany of reassuring words rattled in my mind. She’s done this before… she’s a professional… she’s trained to do this… The mumbling in my head was suddenly interrupted and I was back in the cubicle. With a calm voice she said, “Ready”. I had to give in. Not to conquer pain but to conquer a fear I did not realize I had.

Stinging sensation after stinging sensation the waxer pulled hair from places I never thought was possible. I experience was less traumatic than what I expected – a lot less than the decimated scrotum that I imagined. A final pull and a dab of anti-bacterial cream and I was done.

The new-found smoothness made way to the realization that I overcame a fear that I never new I had. I can’t wait for my next Brazilian encounter. . Not that I have a perverted desire to be touched by a total stranger, but because the smoothness is just addicting.

Epiphanies come to us in unexpected times. Whether you’re deep in meditation, when you have an ice-cold beer in hand or when you’re in your commute to work, there is never an odd time for epiphanies. I had mine as a total stranger was about to pull hair from my private areas.