Dug this doozy up from 2013. I might start doing this periodically because there are some gems that could use some reposting 🙂
Driving down to my parent’s home in Connecticut this morning, I asked the car, “Have I posted about Brazilian wax jobs yet?” Immediately, both Maya and Ben say, “I’m sure you have. Yes, yes you have.” But, none of us could recall an entire blog post dedicated specifically to Brazilian bikini waxes, so it’s happening now…just in case we missed that boat somehow.
Allow me to share one of the most traumatizing days of my life.
I was about 8 months pregnant with Bode, wrapping up a long winter of zero sun exposure, and just feeling…well, how many 8 month pregnant women feel: as pale as Ben’s upper thighs, swollen all over (swollen should go right up on that list of hateful words), and unable to see areas of my body that you need to see to be able to shave without cutting areas of your body that should never ever be cut.
Since I’m the type of person who must fix something if it’s not going right, I signed myself right up for my first ever spray tan and Brazilian bikini wax. I got it in my head that those “treatments” would dig me out of my little hole. Lucky for me, I found deals for both on Groupon. I was able to book both of them for the same morning while both kids were at school.
That morning, I quickly realized that there are certain services that are not worth getting “deals” on unless you are familiar with the establishment and/or the particular treatment you’re getting done. Apparently, spray tanning and Brazilian bikini waxes fall directly into that category for me.
The spray tan was first.
After I signed some sort of release form (which made me wonder), I was told to remove my clothes and the “airbrush artist” would meet me behind the curtain.
Are you kidding me???
“Just to avoid a potentially very awkward situation, do you mean all of my clothing?” I asked.
The woman (I think she was a woman, but could definitely have been a 15 year old from our kids program) giggled and just said, “Yes.”
What the hell happened to the private little rooms with booths that I must’ve seen in a movie somewhere? That’s what I was picturing when I thought this was such a great, proactive idea.
I have never felt so involuntarily exposed in my entire life. It was one of those make-shift closets sectioned off from the waiting room by nothing more than curtains, and I felt so awkward I didn’t even know what to do with my hands. Should I put them on my hips? Or, will I not feel so fat if I put them up behind my head? Maybe cross my arms in front…or in back? Dammit, should I sit on the floor?
NO. Of course you shouldn’t sit on the floor!!!
The “woman” walked right in to me standing there with my arms straight down by my side and started directing me: feet out, pivot, palms forward, rotate, palms back and out, lift (you know what), arms up, rotate. This went on for, like, 50 more commands than I wanted it to.
I was dyyyyying.
And, she knew it. I was exerting zero energy trying to cover up how I was feeling.
“Don’t worry. You are the fittest looking pregnant woman I’ve ever seen!”
“Sweetie bear, there is nothing you can say right now to make me feel more comfortable. But, I appreciate the effort.”
5 minutes later:
“We’re running a great special right now if you’d like to book your next appointment!”
“Ha! How about that!?! I think I’m actually allll set.”
And, that was that.
I marched myself right down to my car for a good strong cry, pumped to get hot wax applied to my entire bad spot, and then aggressively ripped off by yet another complete stranger.
One thing I was not told about getting a Brazilian is that you are supposed to let the hair on the area grow for 1-2 weeks. I found this out when the technician informed me that this could take longer and, thus, be more painful because my hair wasn’t long enough. Apparently, not enough hair translates into nothing the wax can grab onto. But, she could work through it if I could stand it.
Unfortunately, I am far too competitive a human being to give up on this; I was going to get what I came for.
What I found out in this circumstance is that competitiveness gets you nowhere with Brazilian bikini waxes.
What felt like an hour into the most miserably painful “treatment” of my life, my technician says, “Ok, now this area might hurt.” What the HELL was she talking about!?! NOW it might hurt!?!
And, when she had me roll onto my side and lift my leg up in the air, she showed me exactly what area was going to hurt.
Did I mention I was 8 months pregnant, fat, and hairy?
I think I’ll stop there because, believe it or not, I do have a teeny tiny number of memories that I’d rather keep private.
But, here’s what I don’t get about Brazilians: from what I understand, you need to let your hair grow out 1-2 weeks, then deal with a total stranger waxing down your ENTIRE bad spot and then ripping it all off, and then having to wait days for the redness and swelling to calm down. After all of that, you get a few good weeks before the
entire process starts all over again.
Girls, are we sure this is all worth it?
All I know is I need a better plan for what I’m gonna’ do the next time I’m 8 months pregnant and can’t see enough to shave safely.
Well, at the end of that day, I drove myself home at about 15 mph on Rt. 9 in the slow lane, emotionless, radio turned OFF, just feeling as if I had been dragged naked through the freaking trenches (that is, in a 100% non-sexy