Waxing and waxing

The Brazilian Bikini Wax. If you don't know it first-hand, you've probably seen that Sex and the City where they visit LA and meet Vince Vaughan ("my brazilian made me do it"). If you're still unfamiliar, check out http://www.manipedi.com/services_wax.shtml.

On the female pain scale a Brazilian is maybe a 6, with 1 being mild cramps and 10 being child birth. Although I don't really know because I've never had a child, let it suffice to say that ripping all your pubic hair out in big strips hurts like a mother.

I'm one of those sporadic customers, I go every 4-6 months when it's getting really bushy down there. I like to try new places, so last week I found a very nice salon in a posh part of San Francisco (Laurel Heights). I went in and was immediately offered a beverage of my choice and a magazine. Looks promising I think to myself. I sit there for literally 30 seconds and am greeted by the aesthetician. Prompt service, good. Her name is Katrina and her English is not so good, but I'm not worried because frankly I've found Slavic women really know what they're doing in the arena of painful spa treatments (try a deep cleansing facial by Magdalena at Refresh http://www.refreshdayspa.com).

We go into a smallish but adequately prepared room. She tells me to get undressed. On the table she leaves me a spa-towel-velcro-wrap-dress-thing and a pair of disposable thong underwear. Now I've had a lot of Brazilians before (waxing that is) and I know that there's no way you can do it with underwear on (which should have been my first clue that something was amiss). So I leave them on the counter and climb up onto the table.

She comes back in the room and pulls back the towel and exclaims "Oh!" (Oh what? I think).

"You don't wear. Okay, no problem," she says with a Russian accent and a nervous smile. Now I'm starting to wonder why someone who does this for a living is surprised to see the vagina she's about to wax bare. But I figure maybe the women in this neighborhood are more modest than I and she's just protecting my privacy. That's nice.

So she starts to slather on the wax and I'm laying there ready to take the pain as usual. She seems to be having a little trouble with the wax, it's all stringy and can get all over the place if you don't know what you're doing. She puts on the cloth strip, rubs it into the wax real good and gives it a tug.

1st rule of waxing: you better tug that thing with confidence and rip 'em out quick or else you're just pulling on my pubes really freaking hard while they're still attached, and that moves the procedure to an 8 on the pain scale.

2nd rule of waxing: goddam it! bitch if you don't get this right I'm going to kick your ass! (See the movie "40-year-old virgin").

I'm yiping in pain and she apologizes for the trouble. Asks me if maybe I'd like to try the other style of wax? (hard wax, which is self peeling and therefore does not require cloth strips) maybe that would be less painful? I say yes as if she should have used that all along and we try again.

Meanwhile I look down and she's managed to wax the most random two patches of hair so now my vagina looks like a dog that fell victim to a three-year-old with scissors.

As soon as she starts to pull I realize my mistake: the thing with the hard wax is that it's difficult to get a good hold of before you pull. So now she's futzing and yanking my pubes even MORE than before trying to get a corner free to give it a good yank. The pain is so unbearable I finally yell "STOP! This is not working for me." It's all I could think of to say in place of what I was thinking: "Lady, you suck at this!"

She looks at me not quite sure that I'm saying what I'm saying, and I politely tell her I can't go on. The pain is too great. I ask her to clean me up and she says ok as she hesitantly moves back and forth between her supply table and my crotch trying to figure out what to do because there are two huge dry strips of wax with my pubes firmly logded in them. She says timidly "may I pull?" and I figure there's really no other way so I let her.

"Aaaahhh!"

Then she tells me she's almost done. Don't I want her to finish? She clueless. She's only done half the front! Does she not know the hair goes all the way to the back and then some? I say again, politely, "no this really isn't working for me." She puts some after-wax soothing oil balm stuff on me and leaves the room. Her face is sweaty and red from the embarassment. She has to know she has absolutely no business attempting this highly advanced waxing prodecure.

I put on my clothes, shake my head as I see the splotches of half-waxed pubes where my bush used to be, and come out of the room. We communicate in something you can barely call language that I have to go now and I'm not paying for this but I offer anyway to not be a bitch. She refuses and I walk out.

I get a block away and call my husband. He's scheduled with the same woman right after me, so I tell him not to come there. She's aweful. You see for a man, the back wax is like an 8 on the pain scale with 9 being a ball wax and 10 being a knee to the groin. There's no way in hell I'm letting that crazy woman knee my husband in the balls.

The next day I went back to International Orange Spa (pricey but so worth it, http://www.internationalorange.com/) where a real professional finished the job while I told her the horror story. She laughed when I told her Katrina claimed she was almost done. "Who's vagina was she waxing?" she said as she admired me in all my grown-out glory.

I walked out of there 20 minutes later with a beautiful Brazilian and my pride.