what's the fuss?
I'm a studette.
defuzz or not defuzz?
Brazilian. I'd been thinking about this for a while, just pondering it in my mind. The black man would mention it every now and again, but I would complain about my schedule, lack of time, etc... But really, you all know, I can be a bit recalcitrant.
Silly, but that's me.
And frankly, doing something to myself because someone else wants me to do it? Eeek, doesn't sound so nice when I put it that way, does it?
Well today, I woke up and decided to do it. It's my cookie, to be fuzzy or nakey as I like.
I've shaved before, very impractical. You really need help, since there are not enough mirrors in the world to be able to see everything you want to see, in order to do a good job. But who else would you trust other than yourself with a razor? And self-waxing? I just don't think I could be ruthless enough, even with 20-odd years' worth of eyebrow plucking experience under my belt. So I knew if I was gonna, it was gonna be up close and personal with an esthetician, somebody who (hopefully) knows what they're doing.
I found several highly rated salons on Citysearch, made some calls and decided on the folks at BellaPelle because they didn't have any bad reviews, they had evening hours, and they could see me today. I made the appointment and drove into the city.
In a small but lovely office on Geary across from Neimans, I sat and knitted and sipped lemonade and waited my turn for their Itsy Bitsy Brazilian Bikini Wax. The receptionist asked me if I were interested in the June bonus, a free pair of crystal-embellished thongs for each IBBBW with the added Glamourpuss option. What's the Glamourpuss, you ask? Post-Brazilian, having Swarovski crystals, kinda like rhinestone studs on jeans, glued on you. I was thinking about a cute little red-bejeweled ladybug but I passed; I'd be giggling too much and wanting to talk to strangers about it.
Indeed, as noted by others describing the experience, I stripped to my waist, lay on a table, and let a very nice woman named Gianna apply wax to me then rip it off in strips. And yes, it hurt, and not a good hurt, not at all, but it wasn't agony, it wasn't torture.
I've read others that said they loved so-and-so at fancy-doodle salon who did it in 10 minutes. After being on the table myself, I have no idea how, in the name of heaven and all the angels, you could do this thing in 10 minutes. And I don't think I would like that person very much; I believe they could make me cry.
But I was in fine spirits during my session. In fact, after the first few pulls, I couldn't help but ask Gianna, "Is this it? I was geared up for pain falling somewhere along the line of childbirth. Who couldn't do this? This isn't that bad!"
We talked of politics, fashion, family... and I realized that I have no shame whatsoever. None. Must be all those years of gynecologist visits. Knees wide... legs in the air... on the side... 45 minutes of chatting and, well, waxing on and pulling off.
Well, not quite. You see, when there are areas that no longer have fuzz, other nearby areas that before seemed relatively fuzzless now feel fuzzy as all get out. I know that to satisfy myself, I'll have to get out the razor tomorrow to get things matchy-matchy. And at my next waxing (in 4-6 weeks), I'll make sure to mention the outliers.
One could get caught up in all this glorious hairlessness!