The Brazilian Files

Warning: I’m talking waxing people

They say “beauty is pain” – I don’t know who started that, I even Googled it and could not figure it out, suffice to say in a lot of cases it is true. Today however I am talking about a specific kind of pain… I am talking about the dreaded waxing… the brazilian!

Now, I don’t know about you, but I like to get all my waxing/beautician stuff over in one go. I go in once every 5 weeks and do the eyebrows, bikini line etc. I have thought about permanent hair removal, but that is about as far as I have got with that… thought about it LOL.

Recently I went on my regular visit to the beautician I have been seeing for many, many years. I even followed her when she moved a few suburbs away, she is good and she is reasonably priced. So this day I went and she was on her own because the other lady was on a half day, should be no issue right? So here I am in a tank top and a g-string on this table legs all over the place and she has got her hot wax and is putting it in the kind of places where you really want someone giving it 100% focus as a little stray wax could put you in a world of pain and the phone would not stop ringing. Seriously what would normally take a maximum of 10 minutes took us 30. It was insane, she kept having to leave the room mid wax and I would lay there listening to her conversation on the phone or hearing her talking to the random that had walked in until she came back.

Eventually she gave up and brought the cordless with her and then I had the awesome experience of having her waxing between my legs whilst fielding phone calls, that was seriously bizarre, I mean I have heard of multi-tasking, but that is not something I want you to do whilst you are applying hot wax to my lady parts!

Then someone came in the front door again so she had to go out, I happened to look to the side and see the mirror they have there so you can check your wax before going out and paying in case there is anything you want them to fix and had to laugh at how ludicrous I looked. One leg up and out and one to the side, at some stage of mid wax (I wasn’t entirely sure where we were at so I didn’t want to put my legs together in case things then got stuck – Oh my god can you even imagine that!), pretty much bare enough to cause significant embarrassment if someone walked in, listening in to a conversation I shouldn’t have been dealing with before my morning coffee (apparently her bf was going to ditch her if she didn’t bald her beaver – I felt like screaming at her to dump him if he doesn’t return the favour and bald his balls!!) and apparently a bit of the cotton she had used had not made it to the bin and was stuck to my knee. I had a good giggle at myself and then realised how much we really bare to our beauticians, my beautician has seen more of my body than my doctor, she knows more about our house dramas than most of my friends, she knows and remembers the name of my Hubby and our nieces and nephews – some of my colleagues don’t even know I have any.

Isn’t that an incredible amount of trust? Not that I am saying it is a bad thing, I just had never thought about it before and was quite amazed to be honest.

Don’t worry, she didn’t leave me stranded, she came back and finished me up and apologised profusely throughout the entire thing. Funnily enough (even with Clomid going nuts) I wasn’t upset about it, because I knew that they had recently moved areas and that they were in a small collection of shops rather than a mall now and she was very ill with fluid on her lungs for a few weeks so she really needs the business. Then I realised I knew her well too. How interesting that both of us share so much of our lives with someone we see once every five weeks.

How much do you share with your beautician?