Maintenance Squared

Ah, Hollywood (probably Los Angeles, in general)…where nothing is ever shocking. Where , in other parts of the country, conversations usually confined to a quiet corner bistro on girls' night after a few cosmopolitans are discussed casually over a non-fat decaf double shot with a twist at 7:00 a.m. This is my home. Where I live and love. Where I get my hair and nails done. Work on those love handles. Groom the chin hair. Chatting with my pal Kate, I've been enlightened to the existence of such strange grooming "maintenance" as vaginal rejuvenation and anal bleaching. Dear Lord…!!!! Really!?! http://katedating.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html These things to me are like Mikey from the Life Cereal commercial dying because he ate Pop Rocks & drank a Coca Cola at the same time…and the Ban du Soleil gal dying of skin cancer…rumors, but surely unfounded and untrue.

Tomorrow promises to be one of the warmest days of Spring. Ergo (that's Latin!) (I watched Rome on HBO!) I decided that I will probably want to put on a pair of shorts – maybe a bathing suit if I have enough wine – so I place an emergency 9-1-1 call to the person that knows more about me than my priest and manicurist combined….Lottie, the gal that waxes my unmentionables. And Lottie, understanding gal that she is, says yes, Bubbula, come in, we'll fix that embarrassing mess tout suite. Thank God, because the pasty white skin is enough to scare anyone away…I don't need the Fay Rae Stalker Hair to go with.

So I tottle in, disrobe & wait. And Lottie comes in with Someone Else following behind her. "Is it ok that Lily practices on you? She's new, but she's good and I am here, too. She'll do one side, I'll do the other. OK?"

um…"practice" ?????

If you've ever had your unmentionables waxed you know that this is not an enterprise you take up lightly. There is a comfort level that (for me, anyway) that needs to be achieved. I can't just have any Jane, Sally or Mary maintaining my hoo-hoo. Is it too late to dress & leave?

But Lottie rocks and what can I say? I got a last minute appointment that I was told was a 'squeeze in' because I'm me (yep. Thankyouverymuch) so I wanted to return the favor. Besides, Lily seemed sweet, if a bit nervous. Which is never good when you're holding a hot wax wand & a cloth.

Neither here nor there.

If you've ever had ANYTHING waxed in your life, you know it's not a pain free experience. But, have you ever had your hairs ripped out from the belly button south, you know it's an exercise in zen. Remember the beauty that comes after. No shave-rash. No Shave Rash. So I lie down. And then I'm thinking, I'm getting waxed tag-team? Oh. My. God. I can't even begin to tell you how weird and painful and strangely clinical the experience was. It was definitely a teaching session. "No, you missed here. Don't be afraid to just pull. It hurts worse when you don't". LOL! Small fumbles aside (no shave rash. no shave rash.) I was done lickety split (no pun intended) which was the really good part of it but when I got to the car I let out the primal scream of all primal screams. OWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!

And only then did I take two seconds to consider the oddity of the appointment. On one hand, everyone has to learn, but why was I chosen as the human guinea pig…or Rhesus monkey? Clearly lots of material to work with. On the other? Weekend beauty, worth the price.

Happily Mikey and the Ban du Soleil gal and the aforementioned fringe grooming practices are still a mystery to me.