The Wax

Have you been in any confronting situations lately? Perhaps involving paper undies? Or Milanese women speaking very little english, wielding spatulas of hot wax? Good. So have I.

I thought I’d tear in to Pitt St Mall for an extremely speedy and cheap bikini wax immediately before the Christmas holidays (sorry males and the squeamish… this post will only go downhill from here. Geddit? Sorry. The brave, read on). The key motivation was the promise of spending a week in a bikini on a beach holiday with our gorgeous friends, and the knowledge that small children will grip the nearest object when in the surf. Mummy’s bikini bottoms are often the nearest object. I wanted to be ‘prepared’ for any emergency situations.

Steve Carrell. Without you, many men would never know the true horror. I bow down and worship you and your bald bleeding nipples.

Steve Carrell. Without you, many men would never know the true horror. I bow down and worship you and your bald bleeding nipples.

Now, being a tightarse AND a bargain hunter means I was suckered in for a G-string wax upon arrival, given it was only $3 extra. Bargain. My dear therapist’s accent was so chunky you could carve it. In fact, it was so northern italian I didn’t even recognise it as Italian, despite having spent a few years learning the language. You know where this is going, don’t you? I ripped out my tragic, rubbish, washed up and incorrect tenses, and attempted to make conversation. I couldn’t think of the words for ‘awkward’ ‘embarrassed’ or ‘paper undies’. I stared at the sky. She was indulgent of my awful italian, and kept asking questions about my travels, and saying ‘And you?’ and I’d reply ‘Si, blah blah blah’.

My leg went to the ceiling, while my knee made small talk with my nose, rudely before doing any warm up stretches. Pilates thrown in for free too! WHAT a bargain. She then made a noise like ‘ahhhhh!’ like she’d found a pot of gold. Imagine her rubbing her hands together with glee, though she couldn’t as they were weighed down by rivers of burning hot wax. As my eyes watered, again she asked, ‘And you?’

‘And you?’

And me what? I decided to get over my embarrassment (since I DID sign up for this after all) and take a look down at what was going on.

It was then I realised that ‘And you?’ meant, in I can’t speak any english and have no idea what I’m saying speak: Do you want me to rip this bit here out too? 

And me, thinking we were having a conversation, kept replying ‘Si’ or: Yes, yes, blah blah blah I think I’m talking super-awesome italianese here. Go me. 

I was left with an area that would be perfect for landing model aeroplanes. I got a bargain, I think.

xx

I‘m pretty new to this whole deal. Do you ever get over the awkward factor? Or do you just forget about it and go free-range?