Wax on

Today, let the word ring forth, I am having legs waxed for the first time.

Partly because my sensitive skin cant take the razors any more, and partly because I am going on a big holiday in a few number of weeks and I want a test run, and partly because I am having a year of doing things I think I probably should have got round to years ago, and partly because when I asked about epilators here on the site my comment box became a howling hall of NOoooooo!. So I am having my legs waxed today.

I am not scared. wellI am scared, but not of the pain. Pain is not a not a problem.

Im just scared of beauticians.

To this end, I managed to find a waxing companion, a master of the waxual arts, and am going to get waxed today with this kind friend (and also, of course, blogger).

The end of last week

She: So. what do you want done? I need to know just so I can book. What do you want done?

Me: Oh right, yes. My legs, please. I would like my legs done. I would like them Waxed.

I feel impressively girly. This is the kind of thing that women say when they are talking with other women about women things.

She: Half leg, whole leg or three quarter leg?

Me: Sorry, what?

Its all sounding like the counter at KFC. You think youve made your decision, and all of a sudden you reach the spotty teenager at the front and its choices, choices, choices. Before I panic and ask for a Bargain Family Bucket, she clarifies. Sorry, clarifies.

She: How much of your leg? Just up to the knee, all the way up to your bottom, or somewhere inbetween?

What? Somewhere inbetween my bottom?

She: Well, they also do that, yes, but lets stick with the leg thing for now

I am confused. I have been part of the hair-removal community for a quite a long time and apart from a brief and regrettable curious four minutes in my mid-teens that led to shaving rash somewhere that shall not be mentioned by name on this ladylike organ – (save for admitting that I chose the term ladylike organ somewhat deliberately). And a similar if less itchy experimental phase of toe shaving, which has led to low level sandal-shame ever since.

Me: Just the bottom, I think.

She: Well, if youre sure

Me: Oh no, hang on, the Bottom Half of my Leg. This is what I mean. Not my bottom. The bottom half of my leg. They are the normal bit that gets done, arent they? Should I also get the other half of my legs done, do you think? Is that what proper women DO? I have only ever worried about hirsute claves, not the other bits. Not the top half, or my knees. Who has hairy knees? Are hairy thighs a big problem for women? Really?

She: They can be. Sometimes the backs of the thighs can be surprisingly hairy.

I sit and worry for a few minutes. I go to the bathroom and try and get a good angle on the back of my thighs. I pull several muscles in my waist, and almost fall over the toilet. Having left my own mirror in my handbag, I stop short of standing on a sink and getting a good view on the large mirror in the bathroom. It is a communal washroom after all.

Eventually, I feel forced to admit that looking at the back of my thighs is not as easy as you might have thought. Failing, I phone my beloved. He reassures me that the backs of my thighs are not gorilla-esque, or not so much that he has noticed. He hasnt ever glanced the back of my thighs and thought my, that could do with combing, at any rate. This is good news.

I come back to find the conversation labelled girl flashing on my screen.

She: Sorry, did you want a bikini as well?

Me: As in removal of intimate hair rather than item of clothing?

Yes

Me: No.

She: Sure? Its

Me: Its my first time, poppet. I know I said I wasnt afraid of the pain But lets not take the piss, shall we?

At this point, she tries to convince me of the merits of waxing lady bits.

And, in fact, other bits (a conversion-attempt that shall not under any circumstances, please note, be continued by Anyone in the comment box. I am blushing enough writing this in the first place, I will have no truck with any below-the-belt box-plucking comment boxers, thank you very much. Especially not from men who want to tell the world how much they enjoy a bit of punani remeniscent of pre-pubescence – not noticing that no one here cares much for what they have to say or, in fact, them).

She trieds to convince me. It is a long and thorough argument that encompasses underwear, sensation, sensuality, sensationalist gossip, and issues closely related to the hairy back-of-thigh issues in a way that I cant go into myself without coughing and mumbling Yeswellyougettheidea.

[NB: I emailed this to my correspondent, to check whether this was all fine in terms of accuracy and representation. I thought I had done well, representing her as worldly and myself as rather green, and even prided myself on preserving everyones dignity and reputation by managing to miss out the bit where shed extolled the virtues of arse-waxing. She sent a quick note back saying it was all fine apart from the fact that Id left out the bit about arse-waxing.

There is, lets face it, considerable flexibility to the term reputation round these parts.

So here we are. For the sake of accuracy and avoiding misrepresentation of the true conversation:

Ahem.

Bottom-waxing is also common and many people find it to be, in fact, a boon andyeswellyougettheidea.

Now, clearly I only have to whisper arse-wax and I want a large crack to appear from below and swallow me up whol, so please let us not ever speak of this again]

So, at length and with passion, she tried her very ladyest to convince me of the efficacy and good sense of the ripping of hair from intimate places.

And of course failed miserably.

Its ankles to knees for me, my friends. Im brave. Not That brave.