Years ago, I previously attempted to wax, but with the gooey, sticky stuff–cold wax, I think it’s called. I figured that it would be safer for me than something burning hot, and it was, until I glued my thighs together with an errant splash of wax, right at the tippy-top, where they stop being your thighs and start being cupid’s cupboard.
A normal, reasonable person would probably have remembered that oil will dissolve the stickiness. I did not behave like a normal reasonable person, and in my panic to stop feeling like my legs were growing together like a mermaid’s and that I would be like that forever, I grabbed scissors to cut the sticky wax out. Please don’t ask what I was thinking, because I DON’T KNOW. Anyway, do you want to guess how well that worked?
I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with “bot at all”.
Nope. The scissors ended up firmly glued to my leg too. Awesome, right? I felt like a beautiful, hairy katamari, with scissors and devil-wax-glue on my leg.
I forced myself to stand there and think for a moment. In the first and only flash of common sense that occurred during this entire situation, I realized that I had better stand to think, because sitting to think would just end up with more random stuff stuck to me. I had two guinea pigs at the time, and pictured myself having to call the ambulance because a terrified rodent was glued right by my ladygarden. It just wasnt a story that I was willing to tell emergency dispatchers then, so I stood. I was kind of bowlegged-but-mermaid-y and buckass naked, with a pair of scissors stuck to my thigh which was stuck to my other thigh, but I was really proud of myself for that decision.
So, I thought. And thought. And thought some more. What melts wax, self? Heat melts wax!
I poured a bath for myself, full of really, really hot water. I gingerly stepped in and waited for the wax to disintegrate. The scissors came off, with a little work. Awwwww yeah. Victory was nearly at hand. Ride of the Valkryies played in my head as I sat there, scalded and triumphant feeling.
I waited, but victory was not at hand. It’s true that heat can melt wax, but in my case, the heat got it warm enough that it was just more spreadable. Then, the bathwater cooled. This was not going to work.
I managed to flop myself out of the tub, because exiting like a classy lady was no longer an option. I was far more stuck than before. I couldn’t even dry myself, because THINGS GET STUCK TO WAX. I had just removed the scissors, and I would be damned if I got a towel stuck.
Naked, wet, stuck , shivering and actually for real panicking at this point, I figured my only bet was to swallow my pride and call a beauty savvy friend, who may know what to do. I tried to sound as nonchalant as I could as I asked about the best way to remove cold wax, hypothetically, because I thought it would be good to know before I started.
Either I sounded way more terrified than I had hoped, or she was able to sniff out shame like a bloodhound sniffs out lost children, but she started laughing hysterically and asked me what the information was worth to me. My friend was beauty-savvy, yes. Was she a kind, benevolent person? No. I cursed. Surprisingly, it did not yield the information I wanted. I begged. That didnt work either. Finally, we got down to some solid negotiating, and in the interest of freeing myself as soon as humanly possible, we decided that lunch would be the price.
She told me one word: oil. Then a phrase: “Oh my God, you’re a dumbass and Im so glad you called me because that is AWESOME”. Then she hung up the phone, laughing maniacally. I waddled to my kitchen, grabbed the oil, and rubbed it all over my stuckness. What do you know, it worked like a charm.
I’d like to say I acted like a reasonable, rational human being after unsticking myself. I’d like to say that I dried myself off, treated my ouchie skin, and went to bed. I did not, at least not right away. First, I stood there, naked, drippy and oil covered and swore at the jar of cold wax for a solid five minutes before literally throwing it into the trash can in a fit of betrayed anger. That’ll show it. Stupid wax, making me feeling like an unfortunate hairy katamari mermaid.
So, that was probably 15 years ago. I have not gone near wax since, except to do my eyebrows, and I always have the scissors hidden and a bottle of baby oil handy. Also, I am never, ever soggy or naked while I do it, just in case. Finally, I can say I am smart like that.
However, three or four days ago, I was drinking a glass of wine, browsing amazon, and came across hair removal wax. In my excitement, I completely forgot everything I just told you about my experiences with wax, because you know who hates shaving her legs? ME. You know who has a credit card on file with amazon? ME. You know whose wax just showed up today, covered in tahini because the other thing she ordered broke in transit? ME. Isn’t tahini a sign of luck? We’ll pretend it is.
Anyway, this is a long, drawn out post that really ends up saying this: please keep your phones handy, and figure out where you’d like to go for lunch before hand. I will most likely be calling.
Extra special note about this post: I’m extra-excited to see my new targeted ads now, because I looked up “synonyms for vagina” a whole bunch of times.