Waxing in the Age of ‘Rona

If you’re anything like me, you are sick, sick, sick of this whole Coronavirus business. I am so ready for life to get back to normal. I need my nails done. I need to visit my wax lady. I need to shop somewhere other than Walmart. There is no end to the selfish and shallow reasons I want this to be over. The end of the world is proving to be quite an inconvenience.

Simmer down, Karen. I know how serious this virus is. I don’t need an angry email detailing the reasons I should follow your lead and wear a useless cloth mask and contaminated gloves everywhere I go. I’ve seen your selfies on Facebook, beaming with condescending pride as you don your protective gear. I’ve read your posts publicly admonishing anyone you feel isn’t practicing adequate social distancing. I know you are mother/teacher/volunteer of the year. We get it. The pandemic is serious. Very, very serious. However, I’m over it. My nails, nether regions and I are one hundred percent over it.

Despite the myriad of trivial reasons I crave the return to normalcy, I swear I’m not a high maintenance chick. I am a capable, independent woman. So, being the problem solver I am, I decided I could survive a month or two without a visit to the European Wax Center. No sweat. Grooming at home will be a cinch. I might even prefer the do it yourself route, saving myself some time and money in the process. Such was the pep talk I gave myself while carefully selecting an at home wax kit. I’ve watched Michelle, my waxer, do this a bunch of times. It seems simple enough. How hard could it be?

Fast forward a couple of days. My slightly stubbly underarms and I have worked up enough courage to test out the pre-waxed strips I found at Walmart. Now, I’m not an idiot. I know better than to attempt an at home bikini wax without practicing on another body part first. I also know I can’t be trusted to use the gooey wax you smear on with a stick. Hence, the pre-waxed strips. This ain’t my first rodeo, after all. Underarms seem like a good idea. It’s a small area. If I stretch my arm up high, I’ll be able to hold the skin taut enough to remove the wax strip with minimal pain. I’ve got this. Here we go….

Holy Mary, Mother of God! What was I thinking?

Have you ever had the disheartening experience of learning you are, in fact, an idiot? Well, this was my moment. I made three grave miscalculations. One – I’ve never actually waxed my underarms before. I can’t think of one good reason why I chose to use one of the most sensitive areas of my body as a crash test dummy. Two – Even though the instructions said to put baby powder on the area to be waxed in order to protect the skin and even though I’ve watched Michelle powder my scooter every single time she’s waxed me, I decided to disregard that gold nugget of information. Clearly, my amateur hour hair removal expertise qualified me to willy nilly change the laws of physics. Three – (I found this one out later from a professional waxer friend) Apparently, the only place you absolutely CANNOT wax yourself is your underarms. Despite my assumption I would be able to hold the skin taut, I was sadly mistaken.

I’m no quitter, though. I learn from my mistakes and I persevere. Admittedly, it took me a few more days to work up the courage for the main event – the bikini area. This time, I was prepared. I had scissors to cut the wax strips to size and baby powder to protect my delicates. I confidently powdered up and placed the first strip in place. I smoothed it down in the direction of hair growth. The only thing standing between me and smooth skin was one good yank.

Yup. Just one good yank. Alrighty, then.  Here we go. Anytime now.

There I was – lying on a towel on my bathroom floor covered in enough baby powder to keep Johnson & Johnson in business for a year (I wasn’t taking any chances this time) and a wax strip stuck to my goodies. I cowardly wondered if it was too late to turn back in my misguided quest for at home silky smoothness. Maybe if I took a hot enough shower, I could gently remove the strip and shave my way out of this mess. Maybe I could just trim off the excess paper and let Michelle figure it out next month. Or, maybe I could just man TF up, give it one good pull and put the whole ugly experience behind me.

I chose to man TF up, but only because after a quick google search I learned the other options were unrealistic. I grabbed the end of the wax strip and braced myself for the blinding pain I knew was inevitable. In one quick motion, I removed the wax and the unwanted hair attached to it. Stunned by the decidedly anticlimactic moment, I stared at the offending strip in my hand.

As it turns out, when you follow the instructions you have much better and less painful results. I’m not saying it was the most pleasurable experience to ever happen south of the border, but it was nowhere near as bad as the underarm fiasco. It was so ‘not terrible’, I finished up the rest of the territory without the dramatics. There may have been some curses directed at the Coronavirus and vows to tip Michelle double from now on, but no dramatics.

As I said, my nether regions are done with the ‘Rona. I can’t take much more of this, so listen to Karen. Wash your hands, don’t touch your face and take this shit seriously so we can all get back to normal. Better yet, Karen, go find the manager in charge of viruses and make him give us a full refund.