What makes minds tick in a house of 6 where
the majority vote lies with youth under 10.

Thursday, April 26, 2012

Hair Apparent




Just as a giant snowball lurching down a hill cannot be stopped, nor can a certain regime be halted once it has been adopted. One cannot turn back a juggernaut.

The certain regime I refer to is, of course, hair removal. So as the thought of snowballs and behemoths drifted through my consciousness this week, I was forced to lie down on a niggardly vinyl examination table not once, but twice. The second visit had necessitated the first, and I felt somehow railroaded by the whole damned process. How, you ask? Like this...

When one visits the doctor to check on all things 'Downstairs' (as my grandmother referred to such matters), there is the question of whether one should prepare. Just as one might prepare for the dentist by brushing and flossing, does one need to prepare for the gynaecologist in a similarly courteous way? Until recently I would have said 'No'. However, there is a certain point at which a tidal surge of social pressure becomes too overpowering to resist. Not that your average citizen parades around flaunting their Axminster (shall we say) but there are hints everywhere about how "everyone" else is wearing theirs nowadays.

So, in deference to fashion, I found myself at the local Beauty Parlour to have some work done. This establishment is run by some lovely Thai ladies and I imagine they've seen it all. Or have they? The young apprentice who was assigned to my job seemed competent enough in the leg waxing department, chatting away as she waxed on and waxed off.

Then came the real test. The bikini wax. "Ah, you want bikini or g-string?" Hmm, having never had either (see previous post on my retarded entry into the world of personal grooming), I opted for the latter. However, the look on the young lady's face as she surveyed the area to be tended, gave me cause to reconsider. Alarm is probably the most appropriate term for what she was feeling right there and then.

"You wait one minute," she instructed, as she raced from the cubicle and called for back up from The Master next door, who was quite clearly the proprietor. After much discussion, the dowager of depilation strode in, slapped on the switch for what was presumably the Special High Intensity Training wax pot and proceeded to prattle away in a didactic fashion to her sidekick.

Let us not talk of the pain here, for that comes without hesitation. Let us instead concentrate on the methods one used to mitigate the smarting of the nether regions. The most useful amusement it seemed, as she was ripping away, was to run through my small repertoire of palindromes: WOW, MADAM, HUH. And I thought to myself, could I make these into a sentence?  I could, and I did.

As night follows day, the suffering did end and I relieved myself of $60 and made my way home, John Wayne-style. And as I perched myself on the office chair and reminisced on my day at the salon I thought it wise to channel The Duke himself, and he didn't fail me. "Life's hard," he said. "It's even harder when you're stupid."

7 comments:

  1. This brings fond memories of my time at Imperial Tobacco at the rise of the fashion of Brazilian Waxing. Up until this time I had been ignorant of this process and some of the younger girls entered the office John Wayne style after an encounter at the hands of a skilled waxer.

    My interest was tweaked. The concept was foreign but full of curiosity I enquired. I was rather shocked to say the least and left a little speechless. (For those who know me that is an unusual occurance). Another of my collegues, also in her mid thirties was not so reticient in questioning the girls.

    Her amazement of this rather odd new trend was to warn the girls at the end of the conversation she was not to walk in on them in the kitchen soothing the itch of regrowth with the door nobs of the kitchen cupboards.

    After gales of laughter and many red faces we all retired back to our desks with us older ladies facing the question of what on earth would necessitate such drastic pruning. It was a mystery that still remains with me today. Pain for fashion is a not a new concept but I was left feeling that this one was rather extreme considering that it is a region that is rarely seen by others. An upper lip, under arms and legs or even bikkini lines make sense however the full monty? It is one that still leaves me scratching my head.

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  2. What did you do today, Honey? (What am I saying? Leonie never calls me "Honey")
    Well, I learned quite a bit more than I cared to know about the landscape, and some extreme sensations associated therewith, of Clare's er... Clare's umm...
    Anyway, I think the message was - with gender adjustment as required - as The Dook hisself says - “A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.”
    (Oh, and I hear Brazil are leading the way in certain trends regarding intimate coiffure)

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  3. Love it! Hair removal sucks. I know that's childish, but seriously, it's all I've got.

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  4. Was having a half leg wax a few years ago by a very sweet Vietnamese lady..'Should I have the top half waxed too?" says I. "OOOOhhhhh verrrry looooong" ! says she


    FYI. Love Love the Duke..will be adding that quote to Marion's List

    PS. How are you??
    Jox

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  5. Try living in Italy the land of the buffed, burnished and bald where even the boys remove their leg hair and being one who waxed for years until I decided 'enough! no more!". Needless to say it takes courage, huge handfuls of the stuff to walk down the street with - hair - (I can hardly say the word out loud) on your legs. Almost no crime is greater it seems from the pointed looks I get at cafes as they gaze at their shiny bare and bald knees and then in horror at my grassy knolls gently swaying in the breeze.

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