bare with it
By Pat Law™ • Nov 26th, 2007 • Category: Lead Story, The BitchAs a fan of oral sex, I think it is only fair for me to conduct regular depilation of pubes in District South. Having my wife grasp for air in my thick forest like an asthmatic is hardly sexy. A rather cruel way to prove how I take her breath away, if I may add.
Gillette Mach3 was my accomplice since the first strand of womanhood sprouted out proudly more than a decade ago. I detest the sight of hair unless it belongs to my head. As for why I was born with such a hairy personality combined with Trichophobia, I have absolutely no idea. I’m just thankful Mr. Gillette was there for me. That said, I don’t appreciate the abrupt phone calls I used to get from my classmates whenever I was tending to a very delicate spot.
Yes, my pearl is still intact. Thank you for wondering.
Since last year, I’ve decided to reserve Mr. Gillette for my legs, and switch to waxing instead. I’ve come to realize that it wasn’t very considerate of me subjecting my cunnilinguist to midweek chin and nose burns. For those innocent ones who fail to understand what I’ve just said, try rubbing your face up a prickly cactus up and down, and up and down. And up and down. And up and down. There you go, chin and nose burns. Have I regretted it so far? Absolutely not. Does it hurt like fuck? Absolutely yes. Waxing, especially for one who has shaven before, is like Chinese torture. It is definitely more painful than a tattoo. And I have six, to date.
My relationship with waxing didn’t begin on a good note. At my most vulnerable position possible, my right foot tucked under my left thigh with a vagina exposed in her full glory, AND a latex glove gearing eagerly to rip off a thousand wax-coated follicles at the same time, the therapist smiled and said:
We have special package this month, you want to sign up?
You’ve got to be kidding me?! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my fucking god! Why the fuck must this happen to me and my pussy?! I was petrified. No bloody salesperson has ever put me under such degree of duress before.
I will think about it, I uttered meekly. Ain’t no salesperson bully an ad girl, I thought.
RRRRRRRRRRIIIIPPPP!!! The therapist responded.
I think I’ve lost conscious at that point. It was, after all, my very first waxing session after shaving for over a decade, and I’ve just had my poor labia take a shot for me. Before I could recover from the excruciating pain, the evil therapist was ready with another invitation to treat. This time, the area around my clitoris was about to bit the bullet.
But today is the last day of offer, think it’s good if you sign up lor.
NO. I replied firmly. This time, I was angry and I secretly cursed for her next customer to be a Syphilis carrier.
RRRRRRRRRRIIIIPPPP!!!
After a few more attempts, she gave up her sales pitch eventually, and I dragged my wobbly legs out of the centre, promising to never return again. I didn’t swear off that waxing chain, but I made a mental note never to recommend anyone to that particular centre for fear of meeting that evil therapist.
If someone from that waxing chain is reading this, can you please take note of the following feedback?
1. Do not ask me what service I’m making an appointment for. Ask me if I’m doing a Brazilian, the main contributor to your revenue in the first place, so that I don’t end up informing my colleague next to me as well. Not all of us are housewives whose telephone conversations are heard only by their plants and pooches. Some of us spend more time in the office than at home. Not all of us are CEOs with rooms.
2. Do not pitch during our waxing session. How would you feel if you’re in labour and a nurse swings by next to you and ask if you’d like to sign up for a Life insurance plan for your still-not-yet-born child?
3. Don’t be overtly friendly. I appreciate your therapists greeting me by my name but it does get a bit overwhelming. They need to realize that I can’t have a conversation the same way I would with my hair stylist. My hair stylist is not exposed to my pussy. I do apologise for not reciprocating the same life-is-good attitude, but please, don’t expect me to tell you my hobbies whilst you’re waxing my ass*.
For all curious, that centre is located at Wheelock. And no, I don’t recall the name of the therapist.
*yes virgin, the ass is a standard closing procedure for everyone.
Pat Law™is a Digital Strategist who, in her time in the Adland, has marketed a range of global brands including adidas, Cadbury Schweppes, Chrysler, Harley-Davidson, Hewlett-Packard, Johnnie Walker, L’Oréal, and Royal Salute. A self-confessed Social Media junkie, Pat has since joined the 360° Digital Influence team at Ogilvy PR. Pat also writes for iSh, LOTL International, and Singapore Architect.
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I so totally feel you, Pat…
I went to the said centre once and the job was poorly done with visible strands that managed to escape the eyes of the “promotion-is-ending…” therapist. Anyhoo, some tips for those wax virgins who’s considering deforesting:
1. Do not attempt this days about 7 days before/after your aunt’s visit. Its said that the forest tends to swell during this period which will aggravate the pain.
2. Ask for recommendation for a trustworthy therapist from deforested friends. They make the difference.
And yes, a tattoo is more bearable than a wax.
Strangely enough, waxing has never been as tortuous for me as you’ve described. But I do take issue with this particular method of semi-permanent hair removal method for the following reasons: 1) ingrowns, and 2) the stark vulnerability that comes part and parcel with the experience, starting from the very moment you step into the centre, and spread your legs for the wax-tician, whom for some odd reason always reminds me of Dr. Giggles, the scary ass dentist from hell from the eponymous 80’s B-grade movie.
Without a doubt though, waxing (for myself as well as some of my friends) is a rite of passage we strongly recommend. Just some months ago, over tajin at Arab Street, we were trying our damned hardest to convince a very conservative mutual friend to try it, just for the heck of the experience. Imagine our surprise and consternation when she emphatically announced she liked her little thicket just the way it is, because it serves as a fantastic pee trap — which is so wrong in more ways than one, especially when I go by the very moniker “pee”.
My dear sleepyhead, you have no bloody idea how glad I am that you’re no longer my Client. I cannot imagine keeping a straight face whilst getting your approval over some 27cm x 4col BW ad on The Straits Times… and wondering where those visible strands are located! Urgh!
Great tip on the aunt’s visit… Gosh, I never knew about that.
pee, that is absolutely disturbing. I cannot imagine feasting in her little pee trap.
I think she was being facetious. To prove a point. Except her analogy shocked the hairy monkey balls out of us.
sleepyhead: deforested friends? deforested friends?!!
pee, guess which Publicis account sleepyhead was handling?
initials CP? heh heh heh.
Nope… and I can’t tell you.
stumbled onto your blog whilst searching for design-related images. great stuff.
anyway, i love this bit.
“Do not ask me what service I’m making an appointment for. Ask me if I’m doing a Brazilian, the main contributor to your revenue in the first place, so that I don’t end up informing my colleague next to me as well.”
YES. I TOTALLY AGREE.
working with 8 other men in the office doesn’t help either. -__-”"
O, hello there, welcome to my blog. And thank you, for your very kind words.
I’m sure the 8 other men you work with appreciate the conversation.
oh gosh. they don’t know. i hope they never find out! *shock shock horror horror*
btw, i took up a package only after a year of going for the sessions and allowing them to rip me off everytime (pun not intended.)