Certain necessities a woman requires
There are certain people us women have in our life. You may have one…or not. But this story is about me, and not you today. Or maybe it is, because you do have one? In my mid thirties (yes, it took that long), I finally decided it was time to be a big girl and visit a woman in my neighborhood who took care of your lady parts.
You know, down there. *look downnnnn there*
Look, I have 2 types of friends in my life. Ones that are very hush hush giggle talk about this subject. And those who would talk about this at a bar, loudly, to a stranger.
I’m guessing me talking about this on the INTERNET puts me into the later category.
I was newly divorced and had been working on improving myself spiritually, physically, and any other -cally word that would help describe the new me. I don’t know how it came about that I finally convinced myself and said:
“Let’s do this. I WANT someone to rip hair off my skin in the most sensitive part of my body”
But I did. I’m guessing this was over drinks at a bar…loudly with friends and strangers.
is it time?
So, appointment was made to a woman recommended to me by a family member. She had to be out of town for my first initial visit. Dang it all to hell, she is to have magic hands. But she had set me up with her assistant.
The place looked like a super posh girlfriends room vs a clinical spa type of room and helped with my nerves.
Praise the Ibuprofen Gods for creating that little pill and for someone looking at an agave plant and saying…I can make something with this…(Tequila you precious vixen).
I apologized to her for the unnatural growth that she may encounter and assured her I was the worst Vajayjay walking into the joint. I figured lowering her expectations on myself down there so that if there was an ounce of disgust on her face when she had to bare witness to down T.H.E.R.E., I could handle it.
Then of course, I turned my whole undressing-to-prep into an interview.
“Yah, so how many WhooHa hairs have you ripped out?” Parts of me wanted to know if I was closer to her being a newbie or seasoned.
“Is there a school for this? And did YOU go to a school for this?” I sucked at school, but I figure she would need passing grades to qualify her to torture a client for however long.
“Did you have enough sleep last night?” What? I wanted to make sure she was on point.
“On a scale of ‘Oh, Sh*t [email protected] Kill Me Now’…how bad is the pain?” This was the shot of tequila I took. I’m sure of it.
“Oh, you will see once I pop on that table, this is my FIRST TIME. I’m so so sorry.” Remember, I just wanted to protect my inner self that I was a shining star.
Is It over?
Anyway, first visit came and HOLY GAH-FARKING went. We did it.
For a hot second, walking out of the room of fire, I swore I would NEVER do it again.
I politely thanked the sub in woman instead of punching her in the face. Not because she did anything wrong, mind you. Because to be beautiful, we ladies go through the dumbest pain on earth. And that kind of pain causes a reflex of fight or flight. So all I could do was internalize and took a flight in my head to a place filled with margaritas & pedicures.
Okay, so back to the owner who I’m really about seeing. When I realized a day later this necessity in life should be a MUST for me, I booked my next appointment with her. You know that feeling when you walk out of a hair salon? You walk, talk, feel different, right? Even though I was the only one who knew what was going on down there, it made me strut like I was in the Victoria Secret Fashion Show.
My Wonderful unicorn
She’s part bartender-psychologist-unicorn-hairstylist-bestie kind of human all wrapped up in one. I’m not sure what she’s pumping in the air but we talk about anything and everything. All while she’s taking care of business. It’s odd, I know. But that magic she’s got floating around us has me forgetting she’s pouring hot wax on the most sensitive part of my being. There’s the occasional quick reminder of pain but then it’s replaced with my filling her in on my latest coffee intake that day. Or some gossip about some current event going on in our hometown. She’s intoxicatingly (I can’t make this word spell right, but you understand where I’m going with this) amazing.
When you put (whisper THAT special place whisper) in someone’s else’s hands with HOT liquid and a mean quick rip AND an amazing bedside manner, it’d be a complete brain fart to not get ‘er done! Isn’t that how it should be? Sigh, happy insane deep breathe. I skip in and I skip out…because shes’ that good.
xoxo-selena, the rambler
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