Tag Archives: Hair Removal

Pubic Affairs

God damn, someone drank all my Coronas. Here I am trying to enjoy my first day off in who-knows how long with some sunshine and some beer, and someone drank it. Can I not own anything in this house? Is the notion of ‘respect’ outdated? I really hate when people steal my beer.

bald-eagleI had to let that out but it has absolutely nothing to do with this post. This post is about pubes. Yes, pubes. I’ve noticed that many men now expect girls to be bald. It’s become this sort of societal thing where, largely thanks to pornography, guys demand bare skin over bush. It’s even gotten to the point where some men are actually disappointed, turned off and/or flat-out grossed out at the sight of a little totally natural pubic hair.

Every guy I’ve been with it (which is admittedly not many) has preferred me to be entirely hairless. No landing strip or anything. Of course, I’ve given in to these preferences. I even got a brazilian once. Or maybe it was more than once. I can’t remember; the pain must have numbed my memory cells. I know some girls are like, “It’s not that bad!” but those girls are liars. Liars and whores. OK, I’m kidding. I realize that different girls have different pain thresholds. It just so happens that brazilian waxes make me cry, scream, swear and insult your mother, all at once.  

So I do the shaving thing. It’s not a big deal. Or wait, maybe it kind of is, considering how much I hate doing it and how terribly lazy I am. Have you ever nicked your vagina while shaving? It’s unpleasant. And don’t even get me started on the ingrown hairs, the itching or the stubble. But relationships are about compromise, and I’ve learned to compromise my pubes. So be it. 

I just don’t really get the appeal. How can I look like a gorgeous, desirable, voluptuous (too much?) woman from the waist up, and like a pre-pubescent kid from the waist down? To me, a full but well-groomed bush is a sign of sexual maturity. Somewhere down the recent line, it got pegged as the exact opposite of that. I used to handle the adult section of a video store, and post-1980s movies featuring bush were actually considered fetish porn. Come on.

Now, your pubes are just that – yours. So honestly, I don’t give a shit what you do with them: shave them, dye them, dread them (side-note: is that even possible?), wax them into various shapes, whatever. As long as you’re happy with what you’ve got going on down there, you know. I just don’t think it’s cool for girls to get subconsciously pressured to rid themselves of their pubes. It’s a personal decision that should reflect one’s own preferences – or to a certain extent, their lover’s – but definitely not society’s.

-Melissa

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Weird Waxing

I’m Italian. Like, fully Italian. It should come as no surprise that I’ve been waxing nearly every part of my body since I turned 12. This post isn’t about hair removal as such; it’s actually about the woman who waxes me. I’ve been seeing her for more than a decade, so I know her pretty well. I’ve always liked her; she’s kind hearted, pleasant and always happy to see me. The thing, though, is that she’s crazy. 

I feel like I’m insulting her or laughing at her, so I’m going to choose my words very carefully. I truly do enjoy this woman and wouldn’t dare change estheticians. Plus, she’s already seen my vagina, and how many times am I gonna have to flash that thing around town before I get another reasonably priced Brazilian?* 

What I’m trying to say is that she often makes my appointments with her very, very awkward. I don’t have the heart to say anything, although thoughts along the lines of, “Are you kidding me?” and, “WTF?” constantly roam through my mind.

For example, she once asked me, “Isn’t it weird that people cheat on people?” while waxing my bikini line. Another time, she told me that she’s not ready for online dating. What am I supposed to say to these things?

By far the strangest situation she’s put me in occurred right before I went to the Dominican Republic. She was waxing my legs when she started telling me about another client of hers (something she often does). “This lady, she was seeing a police officer. They were an older couple, you know, maybe in their late 30s. They’d been dating for a while, they were happy. One day, as she was leaving a restaurant, three police cars swarmed her. The cops came out. She completely panicked, asking what she had done. A few seconds later, another cop car pulled up. The guy got out. It was her boyfriend. He proposed to her. She was really freaked out. What a weird way to propose, no? But she said yes!”

I didn’t know what to say to that either, although I can see why she thought it was a good story. Well done, I guess.

A week or so later, in the Dominican, my boyfriend and I only had access to two English-language TV stations, BBC & TBS. They weren’t like the ones we get back home; that BBC only played shows starring Gordon Ramsay and that TBS only played re-runs of Home Improvement and Everybody Loves Raymond. Whatever, we weren’t there for TV anyway. 

One rainy day, we had little choice but to watch their daily Everybody Loves Raymond marathon. I’d never really watched the show before, but I learned that I like it. It’s pretty funny, come on. Anyway, one episode featured Ray’s brother, who is a police officer, proposing to his girlfriend… in the EXACT. SAME. WAY. MY WAXING LADY. DESCRIBED.

So she didn’t tell me another client’s story; she really just described an episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.

She is starting to worry me.

-Melissa

*I am never getting one of those fuckers again. I remember the pain vividly.

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