Militantly she about-faced, which was similar to her tone, and left me with said 'dignity towel'. "Dignity Towel"... really? Who came up with that name? How much dignity is there really when your stark ass nude on a table paying for the modern equivalent of being tarred and feathered? Regardless of how undignified the dignity towel - this waxer was not to be fucked with. All things considered however, anyone who is in control of hot wax while you lay sitting duck - or in this case spread eagle - probably should be left well enough alone. So there I am, blinded by flickering fluorescents, clutching my dignity towel for just that - an ounce, an atom, of dignity.
The door opens, in comes Chris. Like the seconds before you get on a roller coaster - only a glimpse of time to cut and run. Running in this particular situation wasn't such an option as outside the netherworld, there is another word for 'dignity towel': washcloth; and it only reinforces how large and naked you truly are. Once you hear the click of the door meeting the door frame with the Wax Nazi on the same side of said door as you are - you're in for the ride.
"Have you ever had a wax with me before?", she asks, as if there is something different about her waxes than the countless other's I have had. To be frank - I didn't know there were personal brands of Bikini Waxing. In the moments to follow I would realize however, there was. Something that could have been brought to my attention 15 minutes ago when the receptionist was booking my appointment.
"There will be pulling and holding and breathing. With me, it's an interactive experience",... The first place my mind goes? Do they charge extra to have a brazilian done by Bill Nye? The second thought? With every other waxer on the planet, I just lie there - now I've got a to-do list: maybe they charge less.
Either way, now was not a good time to be having such deep thoughts - Chris was having a moment all her own. Catching herself in wax, she starts flailing around and pulling herself apart the way a child does in their first experience with Krazy-Glue. Going on and on about how this isn't her normal room, and how discombobulated and embarrassed she is, I am following her original order of a staying in a diamond shape, propping one knee up with one hand, pulling upwards on my abdomen with the other - a position that is yet another special gift of the Wax Nazi special. You may be spastic, but I'm a stark ass nude contortionist on a table... I can see how embarrassing this must be for you.
Then like a redneck scooping nacho cheese dip at a free Costco taste table, she digs into the wax and with one fall swoop covers 70% of the generalized region. While this may not seem catastrophic to some, spreading wax is not like spreading butter where the entire piece can be condomized and you can take a bite at a time. On the contrary, with wax, what you see is what you get. Or rather what you see is what you get left with. Anything covered by the hot green goo is as good as gone,... and it all goes at once. In one word: ouch. In two: Horse-Shit. And you ask how this presents a problem?
Well call me overbearing, or too curious, or just plain dumb but I asked just that question. "A little ambitious... no?". Based on the fact that she had an answer before I could take another deep breath, and pull - something tells me that she's gotten that one before. "I like to do it big - get it done - much faster - less tedious.".
The door opens, in comes Chris. Like the seconds before you get on a roller coaster - only a glimpse of time to cut and run. Running in this particular situation wasn't such an option as outside the netherworld, there is another word for 'dignity towel': washcloth; and it only reinforces how large and naked you truly are. Once you hear the click of the door meeting the door frame with the Wax Nazi on the same side of said door as you are - you're in for the ride.
"Have you ever had a wax with me before?", she asks, as if there is something different about her waxes than the countless other's I have had. To be frank - I didn't know there were personal brands of Bikini Waxing. In the moments to follow I would realize however, there was. Something that could have been brought to my attention 15 minutes ago when the receptionist was booking my appointment.
"There will be pulling and holding and breathing. With me, it's an interactive experience",... The first place my mind goes? Do they charge extra to have a brazilian done by Bill Nye? The second thought? With every other waxer on the planet, I just lie there - now I've got a to-do list: maybe they charge less.
Either way, now was not a good time to be having such deep thoughts - Chris was having a moment all her own. Catching herself in wax, she starts flailing around and pulling herself apart the way a child does in their first experience with Krazy-Glue. Going on and on about how this isn't her normal room, and how discombobulated and embarrassed she is, I am following her original order of a staying in a diamond shape, propping one knee up with one hand, pulling upwards on my abdomen with the other - a position that is yet another special gift of the Wax Nazi special. You may be spastic, but I'm a stark ass nude contortionist on a table... I can see how embarrassing this must be for you.
Then like a redneck scooping nacho cheese dip at a free Costco taste table, she digs into the wax and with one fall swoop covers 70% of the generalized region. While this may not seem catastrophic to some, spreading wax is not like spreading butter where the entire piece can be condomized and you can take a bite at a time. On the contrary, with wax, what you see is what you get. Or rather what you see is what you get left with. Anything covered by the hot green goo is as good as gone,... and it all goes at once. In one word: ouch. In two: Horse-Shit. And you ask how this presents a problem?
Well call me overbearing, or too curious, or just plain dumb but I asked just that question. "A little ambitious... no?". Based on the fact that she had an answer before I could take another deep breath, and pull - something tells me that she's gotten that one before. "I like to do it big - get it done - much faster - less tedious.".
Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me then. I must have been mistaken because I thought that when it comes to the tedious nature of pulling hair follicles from my crotch - maybe this one could have been a group decision? What happened to our "interactive" experience? This is shaping up to be as interactive as Hitler and the Jews: yes, both participating in some sense of the word, and in both my case and Anne Frank's, it would seem as if one group didn't have much say in the planning process. So now, in exponential decline, I've gone from victim with dignity towel - to schmuck sans towel to full on fucked who just wants out, and I have no qualms about leaving the dignity behind.
Easy to say, not so easy to do however, when she's leaning over you complaining that you're not pulling your knee quite tight enough. Lady - I pull this knee in any closer it's going to be coming out of my ass hopefully only to knee her in the face. The best part of all of this? After explaining to me the "Chris" method that is sure to be more painful than being bit by a tiger shark - she lets me know that I have no say as to what's going on in my nether regions. It's her way or the hairy-way and when it comes to me and places just 15 minutes ago I thought of as private, "She likes control". So what do you do when a woman whose eyes light up at the sheer thought of crotch-control happens to be holding a cup of hot wax? You grin, grit, and literally bear it. Besides, how much longer could this go on?
Well, I found out. About another half-hour longer of "okay pul - and breath - okay - and how are we on time - and stick your head between your legs and whistle dixie."
Just when I thought this experience couldn't get anymore degrading, life, and apparently the Wax Nazi, has ways of surprising even me. Switching gears from drill sergeant to shrink, Chris decides to open up. "Everyone's coming in this time of year,.. (nodding towards my nether regions with a wink) Sharing this with a special someone?".
Whoa, okay - hold the phone. I put up with all the strange holding, and interactive pulling and the unnecessary "okay and breath and hold and time check's"' as if we were producing something far greater than the equivalent of a mowed lawn - but let's get one thing straight. A. Even if I wasn't a party of one, referring to my waist down as something you can share with someone like cheesecake,... weird. and B. not since the kindergartens reading of "Everyone Poops" have I wanted my womanhood even in the same hemisphere as a "wink". Got That? Lets keep the personal away from my p-word.
Hindsight being 20/20 that could be a fundamental flaw in my relationships but again, there are some people who you don't want to have a personality. a bikini waxer is one of them, but I didn't get that lucky. Instead once she assumed that, and I quote, "we are both going through all of this for nothing", she loosened up her grip as if she can slack off a bit because her new work wasn't about to be displayed atop the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree!
Only furthering her rambling on how her breaking a sweat while breaking my skin would be as useful as arranging deck chairs on the Titanic, she would pause her rant only for a time check. "And how are we on time,..." Every time I would think it was the last time-check, but there always seemed to be just one more. She could go on all fucking day - I however could not: Death by Wax Nazi.
I need to put an end to all of this - ASAP. Finally Chris backs herself into a corner with, "Well, anyway,... I'm sure there are plenty of guys just lying around..."
And there was my in to say something offensive to shut her up for hopefully what was to be the last check on the time.
"Yea - they're all lying there... the question is whether or not I want to get on top."
Easy to say, not so easy to do however, when she's leaning over you complaining that you're not pulling your knee quite tight enough. Lady - I pull this knee in any closer it's going to be coming out of my ass hopefully only to knee her in the face. The best part of all of this? After explaining to me the "Chris" method that is sure to be more painful than being bit by a tiger shark - she lets me know that I have no say as to what's going on in my nether regions. It's her way or the hairy-way and when it comes to me and places just 15 minutes ago I thought of as private, "She likes control". So what do you do when a woman whose eyes light up at the sheer thought of crotch-control happens to be holding a cup of hot wax? You grin, grit, and literally bear it. Besides, how much longer could this go on?
Well, I found out. About another half-hour longer of "okay pul - and breath - okay - and how are we on time - and stick your head between your legs and whistle dixie."
Just when I thought this experience couldn't get anymore degrading, life, and apparently the Wax Nazi, has ways of surprising even me. Switching gears from drill sergeant to shrink, Chris decides to open up. "Everyone's coming in this time of year,.. (nodding towards my nether regions with a wink) Sharing this with a special someone?".
Whoa, okay - hold the phone. I put up with all the strange holding, and interactive pulling and the unnecessary "okay and breath and hold and time check's"' as if we were producing something far greater than the equivalent of a mowed lawn - but let's get one thing straight. A. Even if I wasn't a party of one, referring to my waist down as something you can share with someone like cheesecake,... weird. and B. not since the kindergartens reading of "Everyone Poops" have I wanted my womanhood even in the same hemisphere as a "wink". Got That? Lets keep the personal away from my p-word.
Hindsight being 20/20 that could be a fundamental flaw in my relationships but again, there are some people who you don't want to have a personality. a bikini waxer is one of them, but I didn't get that lucky. Instead once she assumed that, and I quote, "we are both going through all of this for nothing", she loosened up her grip as if she can slack off a bit because her new work wasn't about to be displayed atop the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree!
Only furthering her rambling on how her breaking a sweat while breaking my skin would be as useful as arranging deck chairs on the Titanic, she would pause her rant only for a time check. "And how are we on time,..." Every time I would think it was the last time-check, but there always seemed to be just one more. She could go on all fucking day - I however could not: Death by Wax Nazi.
I need to put an end to all of this - ASAP. Finally Chris backs herself into a corner with, "Well, anyway,... I'm sure there are plenty of guys just lying around..."
And there was my in to say something offensive to shut her up for hopefully what was to be the last check on the time.
"Yea - they're all lying there... the question is whether or not I want to get on top."
1 comment:
Heh, "stark ass nude." I'm gonna use that.
Post a Comment