The title is not a metaphor, though this article and my vocab as a whole are full of them.
First off, ladies, all kudos to you for having this done on a regular basis. A smooth lady is something that I think most men appreciate and we don’t thank you enough for going through this torturous ritual on a regular basis. That being said, we are absolutely not dealing with the same cache of crops here. I’m working with something between a rainforest canopy and two stray cats fighting for a piece of food. That’s what I think when I look down at the hair pie that rests on my stomach. I guess it’s just that thick Cuban blood that runs through my veins that makes an odd portion of my body sprout hair like wheat in Kansas. I say an odd portion because while my stomach and legs are essentially coated, everything between my stomach and neck looks like I receive waxings as a daily ritual. If you saw just my tan arms you would think to yourself, “I wonder what the rest of her looks like.”
Anyway, as the title says, I got my stomach waxed a few days ago. I saw a fraternity brother of mine do this in a room full of drunk adolescents. “$2 a rip,” he said. Even though I only had a small amount of money to my name, I was more than willing to spend it towards the cause. While his experience was money motivated and alcohol-fueled, mine was mostly out of curiosity. Would it really be as painful as Steve Carrell makes it seem in 40-Year-Old Virgin? What will it feel like after? Were the guys on Jackass really that bold when they glued those 2 large men together? Will eating 12 specialty donuts in one sitting turn me into a walking volcano? I will tell you right now that all of these questions were answered this week.
Let me start off by saying oww. Oww. OWW! Is it me or am I being skinned one hot stick of glue at a time? And why in my agonizing silence is there a giggle every time a chunk of hair is ripped from my being? For having such a gross and boring job, this Indonesian woman seemed to enjoy her work thoroughly. To each his own I guess.
Clearly, this is not a full proof process because every time there was a forceful rip, I was only more and more sure that there was another more painful jolt coming from that exact same spot in about 3, 2, 1. FUUUUUUUCK. The worst part came when she started to flirt with a tale as old as time, the line where your stomach hair is now pubic hair. I cannot back this next statement with any sort of scientific evidence but once that threshold is crossed, the pain shoots through the fucking roof. I’d say her philosophy was better to be safe than sorry, but this took place in a side street massage parlor by a woman whose only available English vocabulary consisted of “yes massage?” She saw hair and knew it had to be removed. Point being, I don’t think I was dealing with the top brass.
The whole process only took 30 minutes but it felt closer to eternity in purgatory. My stomach went from a furry friend to full-on scorched barren earth. “Thank God that’s over,” is what I thought to myself. Oh Nico, sweet sweet Nico, how wrong you were cupcake. A simple swipe of the my arm across the stomach region would quickly remind me that I will be feeling this for the unforseeable future. As if I needed a reminder of the consequences of this ridiculous experiment, the moment that body wash touched my body in the shower seemed to almost yell a simple message into my ears. YOU ARE A FUCKING MORON.
It’s been a few days since the offering was made and the burning rash on my stomach has subsided leaving me with a midsection that is as smooth as a baby’s bottom. Like I said before, the rainforest canopy that I was working with did not permit light to enter to the surface, but a few days by the pool has solved the uneven color situation. All in all, I am not reminded of every animal I’ve ever seen every time I look down at my stomach. Would I do it again? I almost have to. I have no idea if this process was so heinous because they were uprooting trees. Maybe if you’re just pulling weeds the fallout won’t be nearly as painful. If you’re thinking about doing this, maybe give it a little self-trim before calling the landscapers.
In conclusion, sorry dad.
This blog is sponsored by Airplane Mode.