TMI @ the Spa

I'm writing this post as a result of two things that I have been dying to do:
(1) Write an introductory post on this blog and
(2) Tell someone what happened to me last Tuesday.

So... hello! and Simone, thanks for providing this wonderful space for feminist expression. Number one, check.

Number two: When I say what happened to me, I do not intend to play the victim or infer that the action that took place was unwarranted or that I was wholly unprepared. But it means that I was--and still am--in amazement and wonder about it. (Now that I have built up a reasonable amount of suspense, the revelation will be anticlimatic.) But anyway, I got my first bikini wax.

Do not read on if you want to be spared the details.

Since it was my first and I needed to find someone/someplace with a good reputation I asked around, did a web search and put it off for several months. I eventually found Jodi and Queen Bee Waxing. Let's go back a few steps... what would compel me to do such a thing? This is not a subject I have talked too much about with my girlfriends or with anyone for that matter. Only one had mentioned that she got a Brazilian last year and she was pleased with the results. I guess that now, after spending a week being more than 90% hairless, I can see where she is coming from. The initial impetus for the wax was the desire to be less self-conscious during swimsuit season. Since learning how to swim a couple years ago, I have been afraid of exposing my special hairs creeping out like spiders while hanging out at the pool or beach. Yes, they are natural. Yes, every adult woman has (or can have) them. But something about other people's pubic hair is disgusting to me. Maybe it's a threat of an STD--is this real or irrational? Anyway, it was a big deal to me. Nevermind about the sex possibly being better or the desire, in any way, to please my partner. To me, it was all about hygiene... and vanity.

Back to the spa... don't worry, I'll try to keep it polite and not to get into the explicit details. But anyway, I drove up to the salon in Culver City and was promptly greeted by Jodi. (You can read more about her on the Queen Bee Waxing website.) After a few minutes, she escorted me to a back room that resembled a mix between a doctor's exam room and a massage therapist's room. Usually in either of the aforementioned settings, the practitioner leaves the room for you to disrobe. But of course, this place and procedure is special. Jodi, in her lingering British accent, instead says, "Don't be shy. Just take off your bottoms." Already, I know it's going to be "like that." I went to an all-women's college so I was used to "like that." The natural upfront-ness and frankness of female to female interaction. The attitude that reassures me that the bikini wax should not be as strange or awkward as I was expecting, but rather technical and straight-forward. Just get on the padded table (covered in white doctor's paper) and spread 'em as I would at the gyno. It was so quick. Everyone who has commented about Queen Bee waxing mentions Jodi's skill and speed. 15 minutes after I stepped into the salon, I walked out with Jodi describing that Asian women are lucky to not have as much hair down there and that I probably don't have to come back for another month. [I start to feel bad for women who have more down there...] We hug (because we're now on that level of intimacy) and I leave, only just beginning to feel the sting.

The shock and awe probably more stems from having not discussed it with others who have done it, and NOT the actual waxing experience. I was embarrased and ashamed to bring it up. AND I didn't want to gross anyone out. What was I to do? I think this feeling is related to the Vagina Monologue discourse about loving your labia, et al. in all it splendor but geez. How does a woman burst through all that society has taught her about how disgusting her vagina is, outside of mustering up the courage to talk about her adventures with her V. I guess that's just what we have to do.

The sting is all gone and there have been no adverse reactions. Still, I have to see in a few months whether I will go back to see Jodi. The pain was worth it, but was the $45?

Thanks for allowing the space for this indulgence. Please feel free to comment and explain to me whether I should or should not be concerned about peeping stray hairs or other perceived un-niceties.